March to the Empire
by Owl344
Summary: Harry Potter: grandson of the Empire of Man, though he doesn't know it, and padawan of a mysterious ghost.  Then there's his mum, with that weird lightning-bolt scar... HP/Prince Roger/Star Wars crossover.  Abandoned.
1. Prologue

Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man, was upset

_**A/N: Well, it's an idea. I think it might even be an original one—I've never seen a Harry Potter/Empire of Man crossover. That doesn't mean that there hasn't been, just that I haven't seen it. This is meant to be epic length, but who knows if I'll actually accomplish it? I hope you like it.**_

_**Disclaimer: These worlds and characters were created by J. K. Rowling, John Ringo and David Weber.**_

Prologue

Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man, was upset.

"Damnit," he muttered. "I bloody _hate_ being Heir Secondary. I bloody hate the Throne of Man, and I bloody hate my bloody father! Emperor _Roger Rameus Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock_. What's so special about him, anyways?" Jonathan, who was 15 years old, had never wanted to be a prince. In fact, what he _really _wanted to be was a pioneer, living on one of the outer worlds—but when he'd finally worked up the courage to tell this to his father, his father had refused. Strongly. Remembering his reaction now, Jonathan winced.

"No," his father had said flatly. "Absolutely not. You are Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, and, until your sister has children and they come of age, _you_ are Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man. You are _not _going to risk yourself doing any such thing. Have I made myself _clear_?"

Jonathan, who knew better to argue with his father (and Emperor) when he was using such a voice, had sulkily agreed. Now, though, he was considering marching back into his father's quarters and arguing anyway. He wasn't cut out to be prince! _Neither was the Emperor, when he was your age,_ his conscience pointed out—but he ignored it. He _wasn't_ going to be prince, and that was that!

But if he knew his father—and he did—the Emperor wasn't going to accept no for an answer. _Too bad for him, then! _thought Jonathan. _I _won't _be prince! And besides, father's got plenty of spares—there's, what, Alexandra, who's Heir Primus, and then there's Sirius and Remus and Peter—they'd be better at Emperor-ing then I would, and anyway, it's Alexandra who's going to rule—not one of us!_

He knew it was a stupid thing to be upset about—he'd proposed alternate plans to being a Prince to his father before, and though the Emperor had certainly refused them, it hadn't hurt him badly. It was, all things considered, not that bad being a prince—he knew, from his studies, that compared to most people, he lived in the lap of luxury. It was ridiculous to be so angry about it, and it would be utmost idiocy to run away.

But he didn't care. The idea of running away felt _right,_ somehow, and he'd be damned if he'd let his common sense stop him.

And that very night, Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man, began to plan his escape.

* * *

It was a miracle that he had made it. There was absolutely no way that _any_one, especially someone only 15 years old, should be able to escape from the security of the Steel Battalion of the Emperor's Own. It was, in fact, physically _impossible_ for someone in his position, with his resources, to do. And yet, he'd somehow managed it.

Even more impressive than his original escape was the fact that, somehow, he'd managed to evade capture repeatedly. Several times he'd come close, but never had they actually found him. It was enough to make him wonder, occasionally, whether someone up there liked him…

* * *

Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man, age twenty and now known as James Potter, was happy beyond all belief. Five years ago, he'd escaped from his bodyguard, and now he was the happiest he'd ever been that he'd accomplished that feat—today, he was marrying Lily Cassandra Evans, the love of his life. He was feeling a little guilty about not telling her who he _actually_ was, but he dismissed that. It wasn't like she needed to know; that chapter of his life was _over_ now…

"Do you, James Jonathan Potter"—years of practice had enabled him _not _to flinch whenever his full false name was called, but it felt odd, to hear it used in a wedding ceremony—but it was the name on his Bachelor's degrees, and those were just as real as this was—"claim Lily Cassandra Evans to be your lawfully wedded wife, above the eyes of Satan?" asked the priest. The priest was a Satanist—James wasn't, but Lily was, and so was her family, so he'd agreed when she'd wanted a Satanist wedding service.

His smile, already wide, grew. "I do."

The priest turned to Lily. "Do you, Lily Cassandra Evans, claim James Jonathan Potter as to be your lawfully wedded husband, above the eyes of Satan?"

She nodded, smiling so happily that James thought he would burst. "I do," she replied.

"In that case, I proclaim you husband and wife. Live long and well, and may Lucifer the Rebel free the Lord in your lifetime. You may kiss the bride!"

Eyes and heart brimming, James did just that.

* * *

James walked in, whistling. It was the third year of his and Lily's marriage, and their love was still going strong. "Hey, Lils," he called, his voice making a song of it. Lily, who had been watching the television, turned to face him, face thoughtful. "What's the matter?" he asked, sliding onto the couch next to her. She shook her head. "Lily-sweet, are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just…well, it's nothing." She shrugged, and turned back to the television. James glanced at the TV; the end of an add for diapers was playing on the television. A little toddler, smiling as cute as could be, was toddling around.

James frowned. _She's a bit upset about something…_He glanced back at the TV.

Suddenly, he had an epiphany.

"Lily?" he said. "Do you want a…_baby?_"

She shrugged. "Kinda," she mumbled.

He was bewildered. "Er…why didn't you _say_ something?" he asked

She shrugged again. "You never seemed to want one, and I didn't want to pressure you," she replied candidly.

He opened his mouth, about to reassure her, then paused. _Shit. No matter how much I'd like to have a baby, I can't just have one. Much as I hate to admit it, she needs to know._

He winced. "Lily," he started, then trailed off.

"Yes, James?" she prompted once it became clear he wasn't going to continue on his own.

"Lily," he began again, "I'd love to have a baby—"

"Really?" she said, sounding truly happy.

"Yes, but…"he sighed and winced again. "There's something you need to know, first."

"What is it?"

"Well, there are a couple of things," he replied. "First off, I don't actually look like this." He indicated his brown eyes and scruffy black hair. "Secondly, I'm twenty-three, not twenty-five. And thirdly…"

"Yes?"

"Thirdly, my name isn't James Jonathan Potter."

Lily stood, mouth open and eyes shocked. "Who…who _are_ you then?" she demanded, annoyed and hurt and even a little scared.

He winced again at her tone. "Ah. This is the shocking bit. My name, in full, is Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, and I am the Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man."

* * *

Ten months later, Lily and James stood around a uterine replicator, grinning like the proud parents they were. It had taken Lily a while to get over the fact that her orphaned husband not only wasn't orphaned but was also, in fact, the heir Secondary to the Throne.

But gotten over it she had, and now their relationship was even stronger than it had been. Strong enough to decide to have a child.

He grinned, unable to help it, as the doctor opened the replicator and out came their baby boy, Prince Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James MacClintock, sixth in line to the Throne of Man —known to the rest of the world as Harry James Potter. He had green eyes, just like his mother's—and now that James thought about it, remarkably similar to his Grandfather's. His hair looked a lot like James', black and scruffy, but was actually inherited from Lily's side of the family, her paternal Grandfather. His face structure was all James', from his chin to his nose to his forehead, and in his parents' eyes, he was the most beautiful thing in the universe.

* * *

Three months later, Lily was watching the television, cuddling Harry close and enjoying the re-run of Cornflower Avenue, when an emergency alert came on. Her face drained as she watched, and she swore under her breath as she waited for it to end. Once it finally did, she stood up and practically ran to the vidconsole.

She entered James' workplace's number, silently urging it to hurry up. When James finally answered, he grinned at her. "Hey, Lily-one," he said cheerfully. He frowned as he noticed her expression. "Is there something the matter?"

She laughed rather sadly. "Yes, James," she replied. "There's quite a lot the matter, actually." She took a deep breath as she prepared to relay the news:

"Prince Peter attempted a coup," she said bluntly, unsure of any way to soften the blow.

James blanched. "He…he what?" he managed to get out after several seconds.

Lily nodded. "I know. The Emperor, and Empress are alive, but…" she trailed off, unwilling to finish.

James sighed. "At least that's good news, but…wait. Lily, what happened to Remus and Sirius?"

She winced. "James…"

"_Lily._"

She sighed. "They…were killed, James. They were killed preventing his coup." At the look on his face, she quickly added, "Come home, James. You need to be home, now."

He nodded. "I'm on my way—shit."

"What is it?" Lily asked, really meaning: 'What is it now?'

"I just realized—Harry isn't sixth in line anymore. With Peter, Remus and Sirius out of the way, he's currently Heir Tertiary."

Lily swore.


	2. Chapter One

_**A/N: Well, I hope you like it! I'm afraid it's a bit shorter than the Prologue, but don't worry, it should be getting longer soon. A new Harry Potter character appears in this chapter, and it's probably not who you're thinking. By the way, I've decided to, eventually, make this a triple crossover. Enjoy!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own either or both the Harry Potter or/and the Empire of Man series, and unless something **_**very**_** unlikely and convoluted happens, I never will.**_

Chapter One

"Alright, Harry," Lily crooned to her three-year-old son. "Now how do you address a Duke?"

Harry thought for a moment before looking triumphant. "Your Grace!" he squealed happily.

She grinned at him. "Very good, Harry," she replied. "That's exactly right."

James entered, hanging up his coat. "Or you could always call him a bloody idiot," he remarked.

Lily whirled. "_James!_" she snapped.

"What?" said James innocently. "That's what my father used to say."

She glared at him. "Don't swear in front of Harry!"

She turned back to her son. "Ignore him, Harry," she said. "Your father's being an idiot." Suddenly, she smirked. "Harry, dear," she said, "how do you address your daddy?"

Harry grinned mischievously and shook his right index finger vigorously. "Bad Father!"

Lily snickered at the expression on James' face. "What—Lily, you can't just—oy!"

"Very good, Harry," she replied seriously. "Now, how do you address an Emperor?"

James grinned at the sight of Lily quizzing their son. _They're both so adorable,_ he thought fondly. Then he sighed slightly wryly. As much as he was proud of Harry for learning so much, he devoutly hoped that Harry never needed to use it, because if he _did_, then that meant that James had been found out. And that, he was sure, would mean the end of his simple life here on the outer rim, with Lily and Harry and even Lily's parents, Samantha and Richard, who had become James' surrogate parents in the absence of his own. Admittedly, he was pretty sure that his Father and Mother would allow Lily to come with him—it would be mighty hypocritical of them not to, considering that their own marriage had been a love match—but even so, he had a different life now.

"Now, Harry," said Lily to her five-year-old son. "What's your name?"

"Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James," he recited quickly.

"Very good," Lily said. "That's your name in our house, when we've got no one around. Now, how about when there're other people around?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. "Erm…Harold?" He offered up hopefully.

"Not quite, Harry," interjected James. "It's Harry, alright? Harry Potter."

Harry nodded, but already looked distracted. James knelt down, his face as low as Harry's. "Listen carefully, Harry," said James seriously. "It's very important that you remember this, alright? If you don't, bad things will happen."

Harry looked at his father curiously. "How bad?" he asked curiously.

James sighed. "Very, very bad," he replied somberly. "Listen, Harry, I need you to promise me something, alright?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now, repeat after me: I, Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James,"

"I, Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James," repeated Harry solemnly.

"Swear, upon my word,"

"Swear, upon my word,"

"That I will never tell anyone, no matter how much I trust them, my actual name or the things I have been forbidden to tell,"

"That I will never tell anyone, no matter how much I trust them, my actual name or the things I have been forbidden to tell,"

"Without the express permission of either or both of my parents."

"Without the express permission of either or both of my parents."

James smiled, looking relieved. "Very good, Harry," he said. "Can I trust you to keep your promise?"

Harry nodded, looking nearly insulted. "'Course!" he replied. "I gave my word!" he glared at his daddy.

James smiled wryly. "I'm sorry, Harry, I just needed to be sure you understood. You're going to school in three days, after all. Forgive me?"

The reminder of school had the expected result of cheering Harry up. "Yeah!" he said, bouncing a bit. Then he remembered his role as 'insulted' and shook his finger at his father. "Don't do it again!" he warned.

James suppressed a chuckle. "I won't, Harry," he replied seriously. "I promise."

"'Kay!" said Harry cheerfully.

* * *

It was the first day of school. Harry was very excited—he couldn't wait to meet some people his age! He bounced up and down impatiently, tugging at his Mom's sleeve.

"Mommy?" he said.

"Yes, dear?" she replied.

"When are we gonna get there?"

Mommy grinned. "Soon, dear," she answered soothingly. "Just fifteen minutes."

He pouted. "Fifteen minutes isn't _soon_," he proclaimed.

"It is when you sing a song to make it go faster," replied his mum promptly. "Come on, Harry, what do you want to sing?"

He pondered the question for a while, giving it deep thought. Finally, he decided: "Wheeeen I was one, I sucked my thumb, the day I went to sea, I climbed aboard a pirate ship and the captain said to me…"

Lily's voice joined in with his, and they sang for the rest of the ride to the school.

Lily let out a sigh of satisfaction as they arrived at the school. "Come on, Harry, we're here," she said gently.

Harry looked very excited. "Really?"

Lily grinned. "Mm-hmm. Come on, buddy boy, let's get out."

They walked together to the gates of the school, and Lily felt a sudden pang of sadness. _My little boy's growing up,_ she thought fondly as she watched him point at a brightly coloured bird. She ignored any wetness in her eyes as she lifted up her sleeve to dry her eyes. _Jeez, it's dusty in this place_.

Harry looked around at all the people excitedly. There were so many! He pondered which one he should approach first, until someone caught his eye. A boy, who looked to be about the same age as him, was standing alone in the corner, staring at the crowd with bewildered eyes. Harry grinned, and ran up.

"Hello," he said cheerfully.

"H-hi," returned the boy, stuttering a little. "Umm…I'm Neville Longbottom."

Remembering his mother's instructions on manners, Harry replied, "Nice to meet you, Neville. I am Harry Potter."


	3. Chapter Two

_**A/N: I'm afraid this is mostly a filler chapter. Harry/Neville bonding, the introduction to the teacher and some of the students…don't worry, the OCs mentioned here probably won't feature much in the story. I just needed to introduce Neville. As I said, this is a filler chapter.**_

_**…Well. **__Mostly._

_**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter and/or the Empire of Man. They are owned by J.K. Rowling, John Ringo and David Weber, long may they reign.**_

Chapter Two

"Hi, Harry," said Neville.

Harry grinned at him. "You wanna play?"

Neville looked shocked. "M-me?"

"See anyone else?"

"But why would you wanna play with me? 'M no good at playing." He pointed to a group of boys laughing together. "They'd be funner."

Harry remained resolute. "Don't want to play with them. I want to play with _you_." He pointed at Neville, emphasizing his position on who would be more fun to play with.

"Do you wanna?" repeated Harry firmly.

Neville shrugged in bewilderment, defeat and an unfamiliar pleasure in being picked out in a good way.

"Okay. What do you wanna play?"

Harry considered this question with great care for about five seconds. "Tag!" he declared brightly. He darted forward and tapped Neville on the shoulder before darting back, giggling. "You're it!" he called over his shoulder as he ran through the crowd.

Neville grinned and started after him.

They weaved through the crowd, Neville running in pursuit of Harry but not quite managing to tag him. They were both enjoying themselves, and neither of them were looking to see where they were going.

Suddenly, Harry stopped. Startled, Neville couldn't stop himself in time, and ran right into Harry, knocking them both over.

"Ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "You're it!"

"Mmf," commented Harry, his face on the ground.

Neville immediately got off his new friend. "Sorry, Harry, I should have been more careful. Are you okay?"

Harry sat up and spat a bit of dirt from his mouth. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a bit of dirt in my mouth. Don't worry about it, honestly, Neville," he added upon seeing the expression on his friend's face.

A hand reached down and grabbed Harry's shirt, lifting him up. Neville had accidentally knocked him into the group of boys who had been laughing before.

They weren't laughing now. The boy who had picked up Harry was the biggest of them, half again Harry's size.

"Watch where you're going, runt," he growled.

"Hey," said Harry, "I was _going_ to apologize, but clearly you don't deserve it."

Neville winced. He'd have to teach Harry about not annoying guys much bigger than him.

The brute's fist pulled back and he hit Harry hard, knocking him back two feet. "Mmf," said Harry, rather woozily.

The brute advanced upon Harry, a dark look on his face. "You'll pay for that, _brat_," he snarled.

"Leave him alone!" shouted Neville, then immediately turned white. _Forget Harry,_ he thought, _clearly _I_ need a reminder lesson!_ Even so, he knew, he couldn't just let Harry get beaten up like that. As sappy as it sounded, Harry was his first real friend, and he couldn't just abandon him in his time of need.

The bully paused. "Yeah? Watcha gonna do, brat?"

Neville blinked. "Um…" He hadn't actually thought about it.

He smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He turned back to the boy on the ground.

Neville winced. Harry was still woozy, and he wouldn't be able to get away in time. He muttered a word his Grandmother would have castrated him had it been said in her hearing, then sighed. He really didn't have much choice.

He crouched down, then scooped up a handful of loose dirt. _Here goes_, he thought, and, pulling back his hand, he let fly.

It was, in one sense, a beautiful shot. In another sense, he'd been very unlucky. It had been a direct hit, striking the boy squarely on the side of the ear. It had the desired affect; the bully whirled from Harry towards Neville, a terribly angry look on his face.

"Did you just throw this dirt at me, slimeball?" he shouted.

Neville gulped, but scooped and threw some more dirt. It hit the bully's formal shirt, ruining it. Gathering up all his courage he spoke.

"I'd say you're more of a _dirt_ball than I am a slimeball!" he shouted.

The bully snarled. "What did you say?"

"You heard me!"

"I'll fix _you_!"

The bully, forgetting all about Harry, charged at Neville straight on, but Neville had anticipated this and was running to the side. The bully was strong, but Neville was small and quick, and weaved through the crowd with much more ease than his pursuer. He searched for a place to lose the bully. _Where…where…there!_ He darted through a gap in a group of adults, but his enemy, too enraged to pay attention to where he was going and too big to fit through, charged right in, nearly knocking an adult down and finding the grown-ups looking down at him curiously. _Ha! Three cheers for me,_ thought Neville gleefully, and then, grateful for his narrow escape, went to find Harry.

By now, Harry was standing up, no longer woozy.

"Thanks, Neville," he said gratefully. "I owe you one."

"It's no problem," said Neville earnestly. "You would've done the same for me."

"Thanks anyway,"

"If you really wanna thank me, how about no more tag?"

Harry grinned, all his mischievousness returning.

"What's life without a little trouble?" he asked rhetorically, and then, tapping Neville on the shoulder, shouted, "You're it!" again, and took off.

Neville groaned, and started after him.

They played like that for half an hour as the stream of people dropping off their kids slowed to a trickle and finally stopped altogether. At that point, a large bell rang, and people quieted down. A woman climbed a podium that Harry hadn't noticed earlier and began speaking.

"Hello, everyone. I am Ms. Taylor, the Principal. I run this school. I am going to call the teachers up here, and then divide you into your classes. Mrs. Slater, will you please come up? Students, I will call some of your names. When I am done, please follow Mrs. Slater into your classroom. Amelia Torrin; Robin Smith; Jacob Deveraux…"

"I hope we're in the same class," whispered Harry to Neville. Neville nodded earnestly. "Me too," he whispered back.

"…Mrs. Foster, will you please come up? Robert Yorin, Julie Webber, Natalie Sorrington, Harry Potter…"

Harry held his breath.

"…Tory Nickelson, Giovanni Torano, Kora Davids, Neville Longbottom…"

"_Yes!_" hissed Harry triumphantly. He gave Neville a high-five.

"Will the students I just called please follow Mrs. Foster to their classroom, please," said the principal.

They did so.

Mrs. Foster was a short black woman in her mid-forties. She grinned at her students. "Hey, guys," she said. "You can call me Jacky. When we get to the classroom you can tell me your names, okay?"

They followed her along the corridors of the school. It was bewildering, and Harry wondered how he'd ever get the hang of it.

"Don't worry," called Jacky from up front. "I know it seems confusing now, but you'll get used to it. After all, I did, and anything I can do, you guys certainly should be able to!" Her grin flashed white against her face.

Harry, decided, right there, that he liked her.

It took a while, but they finally arrived at the classroom. "Alright, guys and gals, this is it!" she called over her shoulder. She fished in her pocket for a key, tried to fit it in the lock, grumbled when it didn't fit, reached back in her pocket for the right key and, finally, opened the door.

"Come on in," she announced. "Room 138. Have a seat on the cushions."

They filed in and looked about, curious. There were, indeed, cushions, arranged in a circle. Harry made straight for the biggest one, easily three times bigger than the rest, and waved for Neville to sit next to him. Jacky closed the door and swooped down on him. "Nuh-uh, little guy," she teased, this one's mine." He grumbled, but obeyed, moving to sit on Neville's other side.

"Alright," she said. "Let's introduce ourselves; our likes, our dislikes, our hobbies and our favourite colour. I'll start. Hi, I'm Jacky Foster, I like kids and I like teaching them, I dislike people who threaten my students, I like knitting and my favourite colour is orange. Your turn," she added turning to Neville.

"Umm…Hi, my name's Neville Longbottom," said Neville. Someone sniggered, and Harry sent him a glare. "Er…I like plants and my new friend, Harry, I dislike bullies, I like gardening and my favourite colour's blue."

Harry grinned widely. "My turn! Hi, my name's Harry Potter, and I like chess and my new best friend, Neville, and I hate bullies, and I like pulling pranks and my favourite colour's green." All this was said at top speed, tumbling from Harry's mouth like bricks.

The girl next to him started to introduce herself. "Hello. I'm Julie Webber. I like vanilla ice-cream. I don't like people who colour outside the lines or chocolate ice-cream. My favourite colour is pink."

Once the introductions were done, Jacky got up and passed around colouring books before putting a basket of coloured pencils and markers in the middle of the circle. "Now, I want you to share, okay?" she said warningly. When she received mumbled 'yes'es, she grinned. "Good, cause if you don't, you know what that means, right?" At the shaking of peoples' heads, here grin became wider. "I'd have to…tickle you!" She cried, pouncing on Natalie and tickling her till she giggled herself out.

* * *

Lily grinned as she pulled the hovercar to a stop. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd enjoyed his day—had he been happy? Sad? Had anyone bullied him? Had he made any friends?

She searched the multitude of students for a head of messy black hair. Was that him? No, he was—_there!_

"Hey, Harry," she called out.

"Mummy!" An enthusiastic five year old landed on her, hugging her as tightly as he could.

She grinned down at him. "Hey, Harry, the car's this-a-way. How was your day?"

She listened as he chattered on about his day, shaking her head at the account of how he'd annoyed the bully—it was so like Harry—and smiling as he recounted his adventures with his new friend, how his new teacher was completely awesome, how he couldn't believe that some people didn't like _chocolate_ ice-cream, for Heaven's sake, and on and on.

"School's really great!" he finished enthusiastically as they entered their house.

She grinned at him again. "Sounds like it," she agreed.

"Hey, mum, can I invite my friend over for the weekend?"

"Sure," she agreed amiably. "What was his name again?"

"Neville Longbottom," answered Harry, already heading towards his room.

Had he been a little less hasty, and lingered just a little longer, he would have seen the colour drain from his mother's cheeks as her hands gripped the table tightly.

"No," she whispered. "Impossible."

Everyone knew that Augusta Longbottom and her two-year-old son, Francis Longbottom, had died in the fire, that night. Longbottom wasn't a _common_ name, to be sure, but even so, it had to be coincidence.

It had to be.

She ignored the voice in the back of her mind, for it whispered something she didn't want to hear:

'_They never did find the bodies, did they?'_


	4. Chapter Three

_**A/N: I hope you like this chapter. Honestly, I'm not at all satisfied with it. I think it focuses way too much on Harry's beginning self-defence, but it needs to be included, and it seems to like ending where it ends. **_**Sighs. **_**If there's anything you don't like, please tell me, and I'll do my best to fix it.**_

Disclaimer: I own anything unique to me. Anything else belongs to various different people, from the definer of Shotokan to John Ringo, David Weber and J.K. Rowling to Sensei Stacy.

Chapter Three

Harry glared at the bully. He'd known Roy for two years now, and he hadn't changed—he was always bullying someone smaller and weaker than him. Unfortunately, that included Harry—and Neville.

"Leave him alone!" he shouted.

Roy smirked. "Yeah? Who's gonna stop me? _You_?" The contempt was audible in his voice.

Neville, currently being held up and pummelled, winced. He was grateful to Harry; Harry was his first and only friend. And he really did appreciate it when Harry stood up for him. But that didn't mean that he couldn't wince when the bully fist made contact with his best friend's stomach.

Harry staggered to his feet, groaning, and silently took stock of his injuries. One eye that would soon be black; two bruised and bloodied arm; one leg—_oh, no_. He winced. If he wasn't much mistaken, he'd be limping for a few days.

He reached down and pulled Neville up beside him. "C'mon, Neville," he hissed, "we've got to get out of here before Mr. D. finds us."

The voice came from behind them, dry and amused: "Too late, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom."

They turned slowly and spotted their Phys. Ed. teacher looking down at them. "Erm…" said Harry, before deciding to go for his cute-and-innocent act. "Hi, Mr.D? How are you?" he asked cheerfully, all the while retreating slowly.

"_I_ am fine," drawled their teacher. "And _you_ are not going anywhere."

"Why, what do you mean?" said Harry, still trying for innocence. Neville elbowed him gently.

"It's not working," he hissed.

"It appears," said Mr. D. dryly, "that you have been in a fight. Somewhat against school rules, no?"

Harry elbowed Neville in return. "Come on, a bit of help here," he muttered, before saying, "A fight, sir? We don't know what you're talking about. We fell down. Right, Neville?"

Neville was not, by nature, a talented liar, but two years with Harry had taught him certain skills, and acting was one of them. "That's right, sir," he said, nodding earnestly. "See, I was walking behind Harry, and he tripped, and I fell on him, sir."

Their teacher rolled his eyes. "I see," he said, voice still dry. He sighed. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, I teach a Shotokan Karate class three times weekly—Monday and Wednesday from five to six, Saturday from ten to eleven. Here is my card." He handed them each a small rectangle of paper. Turning to go, he added sardonically, "I suggest you come. It may help you…keep your balance."

"Hey, Mum," called Harry cheerfully.

A voice from the kitchen returned the greeting. "Hello, Harry," replied Mum. She emerged from the kitchen bearing a grin. "How was your day at school?"

"Oh, it was _great!_" enthused Harry. "I finally finished that book I was reading—did I tell you how nice the librarian is?"

"Yes, Harry, you did. And did you have any encounters with a certain bully?"

"Kinda."

"Kind of?"

"Yep!"

"_Harry_."

"Well, you know, it wasn't too bad."

His mum sighed. "Come here, Harry."

Harry winced. His mum was going to be upset about the limp, he was sure. "Umm…"

"Come _here_, Harry," she repeated, her tone of voice implying a painful fate for him if he forced her to repeat it once again.

"All right," he grumbled under his breath. He walked over, taking short steps and doing his best to make his limp unnoticeable.

She gasped. "Harry, you're limping!"

"Only a bit…"

"Here, sit down, Harry." He reluctantly obeyed her, stretching out his bad leg in front of him for examination.

She went over it and sighed. "Wait here." She removed the first-aid kit from its place in the cupboard and returned to Harry, opening the kit and removing the balm for his bruises. She applied it to her hands and gently rubbed in onto his legs, causing him to sigh in relief.

"Thanks, Mum."

She frowned. "It's a shame that that bully can get away with it. Governor's son or no, if _I_ were running that school, Roy Davidson would have been kicked out long ago."

Harry grinned suddenly. "Mum, speaking of kicking him…"

She raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't, but do go on," she said curiously.

"Our Phys. Ed. teacher found us—me and Neville—after the fight. He gave us these cards…here, look!" He scrambled in his pocket and pulled out a small rectangular piece of paper.

She mentally raised her eyebrows another inch. _Paper_, she mused, _now that's something you don't often see._ She took the card and looked it over, absorbing the information it contained. It read:

Mr. S. Daedalus

Self-Defense Instructor

Shotokan Karate Sensei

38 Sawnor Ave

"_Please,_ can I go, Mum?" begged Harry. "_Pretty_ please?"

She grinned. "Well," she said, "I'll have to talk with your father, but I don't see why not."

"_Thanks_, Mum!" said Harry enthusiastically. "I'm gonna go comcon Neville!" He ran off in search of the comconsole, a wide grin lighting his features.

Neville and Harry walked up to Number 38 Sawnor Ave, Harry confidently and Neville, despite Harry's best efforts, somewhat nervously. They glanced at each other and seemed to come to a mutual agreement. Harry reached up and rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by their teacher, Mr. D. "Hello, Harry, Neville," he greeted them.

"Hello, Mr. D!" They returned the greeting in chorus.

He smiled down at them, more gently then they had ever seen him be before. "Here, I am Sensei. Come in."

They entered behind him, looking around curiously. It appeared to be a normal house; the entrance room had mats for shoes, through the door they could see a general room, and beyond that a kitchen.

"Remove your shoes," he instructed. They did so, placing them on the mats provided.

"Follow me." He led them to a door they hadn't noticed and opened it, revealing the downwards flight of stairs it led to. He started down them and, glancing at each other, Harry and Neville followed.

The room they arrived on was rectangular, with a mirror covering the length of one wall. It was well lit, highlighting the picture frames on another. Harry studied the frames closely, for they did not appear to contain pictures, but instead a copy of a set of rules.

Sensei noticed his gaze and smiled. "That is the dojo-kun," he explained. "They are rules of behaviour. Come, meet my other students."

There was about a meter of the room's width, covering all of its length, that was bare floor; the rest was covered by a mat that seemed to resemble some Yoga mats that he had seen. It did, indeed, have students on it. All of them were wearing white pants and a sort of white coat, with a belt tying the coat in place. The belts were simple, not the kind he knew from his Dad, with fastenings, but simply tied in front. Most of the belts here were white, though there were some yellow, orange and even a few greens. There were about thirteen students, all told. They were wandering about, none of them appearing to do anything coordinated. A few were racing from one side of the room to the other. One was practicing a series of quick, strong moves that nevertheless seemed to flow.

Harry gulped, suddenly feeling out of place. He'd dressed in comfortable, loose-fitting clothes that in no way resembled anything the people were wearing. Sensei, noticing his discomfort, advised him, "Just follow along for now." He grinned wryly. "I think you'll find that karate has a lot of following along."

He turned from Harry, and, raising his voice, called out, "Everyone on the mats! Fabio, do warm up."

One of the green-belts Harry had noticed earlier bowed, hands at the side, and moved to the centre of the room, back to the mirror. Everyone now got in a circle, though there was plenty of room for Neville and he. They looked at each other, gulped simultaneously, and moved onto the mats.

The green-belted person, whom Harry assumed to be Fabio, began calling out instructions. "Jumping Jacks. Ich! Ni! San! Shi!" he called, doing a jumping jack on each count.

The other students responded, doing jumping jacks with him. When he reached 'Shi', they continued the count, calling out "Go! Rok! Shich! Hach!" They continued like this for a while, Harry and Neville doing their best to follow along. Eventually, Fabio changed to another exercise (butterfly), and another, and another. This lasted for ten minutes, whereupon Fabio informed Sensei that they were done and instructed everyone to 'straighten their gi' and 'line up'. The class had officially begun.

Meanwhile, Augusta Longbottom and Lily Potter were having a very interesting conversation…

The two woman watched their loved children walk into the dojo, smiling fondly as they watched Neville hang back while Harry rang the doorbell. They watched until the door closed, and then stood there for a bit, as if waiting for something. Finally, the eldest of the two turned to her younger comrade.

"Lily, dear," she said, uncharacteristically gentle, "I've been noticing something odd for a while, now. Every so often, you look at me as if I'm a mystery you can't figure out." Her voice, though on the surface simply curious, held hints of a hidden certainty.

Lily gulped suddenly. Ever since she'd met the woman, she'd been expecting something like this, but as the years (was it really only two?) had passed, she'd hoped that she'd managed to avoid it. "I-I don't know what you mean, Augusta," she replied, unable to keep the nervousness from her voice.

"Really?" said the older woman in a tone that implied disbelief.

Lily sagged suddenly. "No," she admitted. "I know what you're talking about. I think."

Augusta nodded. "You're a witch, then. I'd thought so."

"If I wasn't, you'd have been in trouble for asking me," observed Lily gloomily.

Augusta shook her head. "Nonsense, dear," she declared firmly. "I'm officially dead, remember?"

Lily nodded, but frowned curiously. "Since we're coming clean, I'd like you to explain that. Your house was burned to a crisp, as I recall."

Augusta nodded. "Yes, but it wasn't my enemies who burned it."

Lily's jaw dropped. "You…you burned your _own_ _house_? _Why_?"

Augusta sighed. "Do you know the reason for the attack, Lily?"

Lily's brow creased in thought. "The story was that it was because you were a powerful supporter of the Light, but that's not the reason, is it?"

Augusta shook her head. "No, Lily. It's not well-known, but…Frank, bless his soul, was a squib."

Lily gaped. "A _squib_?"

Augusta looked at her sharply. "Your point?" she asked coldly.

"Nothing, nothing," said Lily hastily. "It was just unexpected, is all. I mean, the only squib I know is Argus Filch…" _Not true_, she thought guiltily, but hastily squashed the thought. After all, there wasn't any reason why she should know another, and she wasn't compared to come completely clean just yet.

Augusta's glare softened, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a wry smile. "Yes, quite," she agreed. "At any rate, during the attack I realized that with the Wizarding World the way it was then, even if Frank managed to live to adulthood he'd be miserable, forever looked down upon as a second-class citizen, if not worse."

Lily nodded slowly. "I…guess that makes sense," she agreed thoughtfully. "It's no less than I'd do for Harry."

Augusta nodded, and her gaze sharpened once more. "Speaking of you, dear, why did _you_ leave the Wizarding World?"

Lily flinched. She'd hoped, though without much belief, that Augusta would forget. She sighed, but began to speak. "My…sister was killed, my older sister, defending me from a wizard trying to kill me. We…we'd been fighting, about magic. She didn't want me attending Hogwarts, said it was bad for me. And she still threw herself in front of the curse, she still saved me." A current of bitterness ran through her voice.

Augusta looked at her oddly. "Lily, dear, there's more to the story than that, I can tell. And just because I've left the WW doesn't mean I'm completely out of touch—Dumbledore knows I'm still alive."

She smirked at Lily's murmured, "Doesn't he always?"

"Quite," she agreed. "However, he's been owling me regularly." She paused, as if deciding on a course of action, before looking Lily dead-on: "You're the Woman-Who-Lived, aren't you?"

Lily opened her mouth to deny it…and felt her whole story come pouring out of her mouth.

"…and-and that's how I ended up here," gulped Lily, near to tears.

"And your husband doesn't know?" asked Augusta.

Lily shook her head in reply, and was shocked when she felt herself grabbed and pulled close to the elder woman in a hug. "You poor dear," murmured Augusta. "However did you manage? Let it out, now, it's alright. That's the ticket."

Lily's barrier broke, and tears began streaming down her face, a torrent of fear and loneliness. "Thank you, Augusta," she choked out, sniffing. "Thank you."

By the time that Harry and Neville and another dozen or so people came out the door, grinning and sweaty and exhausted, the only traces of Lily's tears were slight damp patches on Augusta's shirt.


	5. Chapter Four

_**A/N: Well, here's another chapter. I hope you like it! There's some Sensei-James interaction, a special gift to Neville from his Gran, and a ritual of the non-magical sort involving Harry, James and Lily. And, hey! It's even longer than the last chapter—that one was about seven pages. This one's about eight. Also, I've noticed that, thanks to , by section separators have been disappearing, so I'm introducing some new ones; hopefully, these'll work. Oh yeah, one more thing—huge apologies for taking so long to update. I don't actually have an excuse, I just lost track of time, really. Hopefully, the next one won't take so long. No promises, though—sorry, but I know better than to make a promise I might not be able to keep. I've got a **_**lot**_** of stuff to do.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except maybe this particular way of presenting this idea. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling; the Empire of Man series belongs to David Weber and John Ringo; Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Well, all right—maybe I own the plot.**_

Chapter Four

Harry woke up and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Something was special about today…something _very_ special, though he couldn't quite place it. _Damn it! What is about today…it's summer, but so what? It has been for about a month now. It's annoying— I'm excited, and I can't even remember why._

He sighed, and directed a mental curse at whoever had invented anticipation. _There's no point in trying to go back to sleep; I'm wound up tighter than a spring. It's too hot under these blankets, anyways._ He sighed again, and began the process of extracting himself from his bed.

He reached for his clothes, still enjoying the ability to choose whatever clothes he wanted—honestly, the school dress code was so restrictive. What kind of colours were red, white, and navy blue? Alright, they could be good in the right circumstances, but day after day they became a bit boring…

Ignoring the voice in his mind that informed him that, if his classmates could hear him, they would label him a girl at the very least, he continued examing the contents of his closet. _Hmm…white shirt? No, too schooly. I don't feel like blue…ah, got it!_ He pulled out a dark green shirt and held it up in front of him, gazing into the mirror for a minute before nodding decisively. _Yes, that's it. And…hmm. I know I was just insulting school colours, but I've got some very nice, very dark navy blue pants—honestly, they're almost black…yeah. That'll do._

He pulled on the shirt and the pants, and, after examining them sternly for wrinkles, he left his room.

_Hmm…that's odd._ It was a Friday, and his dad's day off. And he knew from long experience that, when given a rest day, and no pressing responsibility, his dad had a tendency to sleep in. A lot, actually, which coming from him really meant something.

He gave a mental shrug and began descending the stairs. _Oh well,_ he thought, _it's probably got something to do with whatever today is._

He reached the bottom of the stairs and was ambushed. _The hell? _he thought incredulously as he fended off the large man's attack. _What's going _on_ here?_

The man suddenly stopped attacking. "That's my boy, Harry," he said proudly. "Well done."

_Oh, bloody hell_. "Dad!" he exclaimed, annoyed. "Don't do that! I might hurt you, one day! Or you might hurt me!"

His father snorted. "In your dreams, Harry," he said dryly. "Maybe one day, but for now you're still a yellow-belt."

Another man, who he had not spotted, emerged from the shadows. "Your father is right," observed his Sensei. "You could not hurt him if you tried. And he is much too controlled to hurt you."

Harry glared at Sensei, pride insulted. "You're the one who told me that everyone gets lucky sometimes," he accused.

His Sensei repeated his father's snort. "You'd never be _that_ lucky. I do not know where your father trained, but he knows his fighting." He directed an inquiring gaze at the aforementioned man.

Harry could sense his father stiffening slightly, and he, too, glanced up, his injured pride forgotten in the curiosity he felt at why, exactly, his dad would react like that to such an innocent remark. _Well,_ he amended the thought slightly, _as innocent as any remark from Sensei could be._

His father waved off the question. "Oh, you know," he said casually. "Here and there."

Sensei's gaze sharpened, and Harry winced internally. He knew that there were some secrets that only family could know, and this was probably one of them—though why his father's hand-to-hand ability mattered was a question he intended to explore later—but his Sensei wasn't going to give up now, not after an evasive answer like that one.

"Yes?" returned Sensei thoughtfully. "I would like to know these places, then, that teach hand-to-hand fighting so well that you could qualify for the Imperial Marines."

His father stiffened further, and Harry had to resist the urge to gape at Sensei. How had the man _known?_ Hell, _he _didn't know what the secret was, and it'd taken him a while to figure out that the Imperial Marines and the Imperial Family and _especially_ the Emperor were at the core of the secrets. He was dead sure that his dad wasn't a spy; first off, why would he be here, on an Outer World with nothing of value? And, second and even more important, he'd been taught since birth loyalty to the Empire and Emperor. His mother had been instrumental in teaching him this, yes, but she never became as…_intense_, he supposed, as his father.

His dad shrugged in response to Sensei's probe. "Oh, I'm not _that_ good," he said with a forced chuckle. "It's been a while since I've sparred, anyhow."

Sensei shrugged. "As you say." But Harry knew his Sensei well enough to know that Sensei would never give up. Take a short break, maybe, but in the end he'd work it out. _Hey, maybe once he does, he'd tell me!_

Waitaminute…_Sensei?_

"Umm…Sensei?" he said. "Not to be rude, but…what the _hell_ are you doing here?"

His Sensei raised his eyebrows. "I'd known you were forgetful," he informed Harry thoughtfully. "But even so, to forget one's birthday? It is a bit much, Harry, even for you."

_My…_birthday_? Oops. I _knew _this day was special._ "Hey," he defended himself, "I didn't forget, I just—"

"Forgot," finished his Sensei.

"You really forgot?" said his dad incredulously. "Honestly, Harry, I agree with your sensei. I mean, come on, it's not every day you turn eight!"

"Technically, I'm turning eight tomorrow," corrected Harry.

His father raised his eyebrows to match Sensei's. "It's today enough for me," he said dryly. "Of course, if you want to wait until tomorrow for your presents…"

"No!" said Harry hastily. "No, no, you're right, today is good enough!"

Dad grinned. "I'm so pleased. Up for some breakfast?"

Harry's eyes widened. If today was his birthday, then that meant…"You betcha! Just let me at it."

His mom poked her red-haired head from the kitchen. "Harry, dear," she said brightly. "I hope you like your spinach-salmon pancakes!"

Harry paused, confused. "Umm…Mom? You _do_ mean chocolate-chip banana pancakes, don't you?''

She shook her head cheerily. "Nope! The store was out. Howev—"

"But Mum! I hate spinach! And salmon! And spinach-salmon!"

Dad raised his eyebrows. "What about pancakes?" he inquired wickedly.

"Not them, no," returned Harry, annoyed.

Lily's face crumpled. "But Harry, I put all this effort into making them for you, and now you don't appreciate it…oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, how could I have ever have done something like this, oh, no, I've ruined your _birth_day…" her voice trailed off, and she started to sob.

Harry sighed with relief and shot a glare at his Mum. "Nice try, but I know better. Hand over the pancakes—and since I've no doubt you have a spinach-salmon one waiting for me to be tricked into eating it, kindly hand over the choco-chip banana ones."

His mother's face gained a grin as she tried to pull off an innocent look. It didn't work. He stared at her, not giving way, until she laughed. "All right, Harry," she gave in, "one chocolate chip banana pancake coming right up."

* * *

It was almost twelve and Harry was squirming in his seat. "When are they coming?" he asked his Mum.

"Neville and Augusta will be arriving at twelve," replied Mum patiently. "Just like the other time you asked me, and the time before that, and the time before _that_…"

He shrugged unapologetically. "I'm impatient. What can I say? It's in my genes."

She snorted. "That's true enough. Why your father can't sit still, I'll never know."

"Oy!" interjected his father.

His Sensei nodded wisely. "Harry is never patient. He always wants to learn more, _now_—curiosity is good, but a wise man knows that all things come to those who wait.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I was referring to _you_, Mum. Who was it who punched Dad when he was just five minutes late?"

She grinned, equally unapologetic. "Well, I _did_ warn him…"

They were interrupted by the chiming of the door-bell. "Ah," said Mum, "that'll be them, then."

Harry was out of his seat in a flash of eight-year-old energy, and had reached the door before his Mum could voice-activate the opening mechanism. Raising her eyebrows at his energy, she called, "Come in," and the door opened.

Augusta and Neville Longbottom were standing on the door-step, Augusta looking only slightly less stern than normal and Neville looking almost as excited as Harry.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," said Mrs. Longbottom.

"Yeah, Harry," added Neville.

Harry grinned excitedly. "Thanks, Neville, Mrs. Longbottom. Happy B-day to you to, Neville!"

Neville grinned back. "Thanks."

"Are you going to invite our guest in, Harry?" inquired his father, voice amused.

"Right," said Harry, unembarrassed. He stepped aside, permitting them to enter.

"Hi, Neville, Augusta," said Mum. "Congratulations, Neville!" she added.

His dad nodded and simply stated, "Ditto."

Sensei smiled, and conferred his own best wishes. "Congratulations, Neville. I hope you have a happy eighth birthday.

Harry rolled his eyes. "With me, it was 'Harry, you could never get _that_ lucky,' and with him it's 'Congratulations'? Why do I put up with you, Sensei?"

"Because if you do not, you shall never get that orange belt you so clearly desire," replied his sensei.

Harry paled. "Right. Got it. Putting up with you. Come on, Neville," he added, and they both disappeared up the stairs.

"Lunch is in an hour!" shouted his Mum behind them.

Harry's head appeared. "Got it!" he called back, before returning to the land of the eight-year olds.

* * *

Neville grinned, still excited. The birthday party with Harry had been wonderful—it was quite a coincidence, that they shared the same birthday, but it made for some fun parties!

_Of course,_ he conceded mentally, _before Harry I had no one but Gran to party with. And it's not that she's not great, 'cause she is, but…well, Harry's Harry. Even if I _did_ have other friends, I doubt they'd be like him._

Of course, Harry didn't know about the _special_ birthday gift he always got, the one his Gram gave him…

He looked up at his Gran. He loved her, he really did. And Harry liked her, which was good. Even better, James and Lily (as they'd insisted he'd call them) liked her. Before he'd met Harry, that had been one of his worst fears. Gran was great, but she could be a bit…old-fashioned. 'Course, he knew _why_, but others might not appreciate her the way he did.

Harry was good for a lot of things. He, Neville, had learned a lot from Harry, more than Harry had known he was teaching; for instance, although Harry had known he was teaching Neville how to lie, he hadn't known that he was teaching Neville bravery. And confidence. And a lot of things. Neville knew that, for as long as he lived, Harry would be his best friend.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he glanced up; Gran's face looked back at him, almost smiling. "We're here, Neville," she informed him gently.

Neville blushed. It seemed that while he'd been woolgathering, they'd arrived back home. Still, he was quite excited.

They went in, and Neville stared at the clock (his Gran was _really_ old-fashioned; who had a _clock_ these days?), willing it to read twelve o'clock, the hour he had been born. He knew, from past experience, that he wouldn't receive his special present until then, and no amount of nagging could change that—it couldn't even get Gran in a bad mood, not tonight, which he considered unfair. He had to suffer alone.

Sighing, he picked up the story Harry's parents had gotten him—_Lord of the Rings_—and inserted it into the com-console. They always got him books, which might have been annoying, but the books were always _good_, and always ones he hadn't heard of before. He might as well do something interesting until the clock chimed twelve. Heaving another sigh, he began to read.

* * *

Neville read, eyes wide. Frodo was reading Gandalf's letter about Strider, and he couldn't help wondering what was going to happen next.

_All that is gold does not glitter,_ he read, and, _Not all those who wander are lost. The—_

"Neville, dear," a voice interrupted. He jerked up, suddenly aware of the world outside Middle-Earth. His Gran smiled down at him approvingly. "I'm glad that you find the reading so interesting, but it's time."

"Really?" said Neville incredulously; he couldn't believe that nearly four hours had gone by. Catching his Gran's reproving look, he blushed. "Sorry, Gran," he apologized quickly. "It's just that—well, I didn't notice."

"I'm well aware, Neville," said Gran. Her face was stern, but her eyes were twinkling. Relieved, he grinned up at her.

"Come here, dear," said Gran, and led him to the dining room. "I have a gift for you." She handed him a small, wrapped-up box.

Neville held his breath. These gifts, given once a year at his birthday, were special, not only because they were from his Gran, but because they were _magical_, just like him. He knew his father had been a squib, but he wasn't, and couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts.

This year, though, that thought held a pang of sadness. He still desperately wanted to go to Hogwarts, but it would mean leaving Harry behind, something he wasn't looking forward to. But he knew his friend would never forgive himself if Neville had thrown away the gift of magic to stay with his friend.

Something of his thoughts must have showed on his face, because his Gran clasped his shoulder. "Neville," she said softly, "I know you've been worried about Harry. Don't worry; this gift will help."

Looking up at her, Neville felt a bit better. His Gran, he knew, could do almost anything, and he wasn't about to doubt her word on this.

He opened the box and drew out a round, gold locket on a chain, also. Curious, he opened the locket, and found, on the inside, a mini-clock face; instead of numbers for telling time, though, there were different words: _Home_, _Travelling_, _Sick_, _School, Hospital, Mortal Danger, Dead, Visiting,_ and _Prison._ There were two clock hands, each holding a name; Gran and Harry. He looked up at his Gran, grinning. "Gran, this is _brilliant_," he said enthusiastically. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She smiled gently at him. "I'm glad you like it, Neville," she said. "It has anti-theft charms, anti-loss charms, anti-detectable charms and just about everything thing else, too. It will flash hot if one of the hands points to Mortal Danger, and it will become very cold if one of the hands points to Dead. Nothing else is really important. Now, Neville, it's time for bed."

Exceedingly grateful to his grandmother, Neville went willingly—but grateful as he was now, he had no notion of just how thankful he'd become for this gift in the years to come.

* * *

It was twelve. Harry looked up at his parents, simply waiting. He'd been born at twelve of the clock, and if there was anything he needed to know this year, this was, more often than not, when he'd find out. There wasn't always something, but when there was, it was interesting, and it gave him a piece of the puzzle that was his parents (well, his dad), and their pasts.

It looked like this year, there was. "Come here, Harry," ordered Dad—and it _was_ an order, in a voice he never heard except on his birthday. He approached obediently.

"Kneel."

He obeyed.

His dad smiled grimly. "Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James, I challenge you: there will be lessons to be learned, this year. Will you learn them?"

The answer came easily, effortlessly. "I will."

His mother came in, now. "Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James, these lessons will not be merely physical, but mental, and difficult. For a second time, you are challenged: will you learn them?"

The answer came as before. "I will."

Then they asked, in a unison that should have sounded discordant but didn't: "How will you?"

"By all right means will I. Through hardship if necessary; through pain, through death, through misery will I. I give my word."

His father nodded. "Then rise, Harold, and know this: you have given your word, and if you break it you will be forsworn. The lessons are these: starting tomorrow, you shall learn strategy and tactics, the arts of war, and diplomacy and politics, the acts of peace."

He rose and nodded. "My word shall not be forsworn, and I shall take on these lessons, giving them nothing but my best," he replied formally.

His dad nodded, and something seemed to leave the air. "Now that _that's_ over with," said Dad, something gone from his voice that had been there during the ritual, "it's time for bed."

"Ah, but Dad—"started Harry.

"No buts," said his Mum firmly. "Come on, Harry." She reached down and picked him up. "You're practically falling asleep on your feet. Up you get." She carried him upstairs, taking him to his bedroom.

"But," he complained, yawning, "I'm not tired…"

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

_**A/N: Yes, there are **_**two**_** author's notes this chapter! Aren't you lucky. No disclaimer, though. Anyway, this one isn't for much except to tell you a few things. Namely, the third crossover's coming soon, maybe next chapter. I'll give an digital cookie to anyone who can tell me what it is! Don't worry, though. It's really not going to be a huge crossover like this one is, where the worlds are completely meshed. Actually, it will only involve Harry, at least at first. Later? Well, we'll see.**_

_**The second thing is actually more of a request. You can probably guess what it is—if you guessed reviews, then yes, you're right. Be still my heart.**_

_**Seriously. Since I've published this thing, I've gotten a grand total of 695 visitors. This is wonderful; I'm truly, honestly pleased and amazed that you're reading my work. However, I've gotten precisely eleven reviews, often more than one by the same person. Not that they haven't been great, because they have—thanks, Blood Phantom, Severus-is-my-man5690, Olympia, reader13, CSIvHP11, mrpietan, Saffygirl and panther73110—but I'd really appreciate it if you'd review. I respond to all reviews, so if you have a question you want answered, great! Just press the little purple button…**_


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Well, here's the next chapter. I am truly sorry I took so long to write it, but it gave me difficulty—I'm really not sure about this third crossover. Hopefully, the next one will be easier. Also, I'm sorry for it's length—or lack thereof—but I really couldn't think of anything else to put in there. I promise that the next chapter will definitely be longer, regardless of when I manage to get it out.

_**Disclaimer: I own none of the three universes here recorded.**_

Chapter Five

Harry looked up at the cookie tin, frowning in concentration. He hadn't had any cookies today, and Mum had left without getting any down—"I'll be back in a half-hour, Harry," his mother had reassured him, but half an hour was a long time, and anyway, he wanted them now. Unfortunately, he wasn't tall enough to reach the cookies, place at the top of the cupboard, on his own.

He glared at the cookie tin, then decided that perhaps the cookie tin wasn't falling down because it didn't like him when he was angry. Heaving a long and dramatic sigh, he calmed himself down and, instead, started crooning to the little tin: "Here, little cookie tin, come _here_, little cookie tin…"

And to his amazement it did; not falling down, as he'd thought, but floating into his arms.

He stared with amazement at it and then, shrugging, opened up the cookie tin. He removed two cookies, the maximum he was allowed to have, and then placed the lid back on.

_Uh oh,_ he thought guiltily. He'd gotten the cookie tin down, but he had no idea how he'd done it, and now he needed to put it back up. _Umm…I could say it just _fell_ down, maybe…_

As he was pondering this immensely important question, a voice came from behind him, startling him.

"Nice job," it said appreciatively, "very well done for someone with no training. But I'm afraid you're going to need some, regardless."

He turned around very slowly. The voice didn't _sound_ mean, but both his sensei and his father had taught him not to judge by appearances—and anyways, someone could do harm without meaning to. And anyone who could appear in his home without warning was very, very dangerous.

His mouth dropped open and the cookie tin, falling out of his arms, dropped to the floor. Standing right in front of him, plain as day, was… was…

He wasn't sure what to call it. It appeared to be a man, but he was slightly see-through, and he was dressed in a way that Harry had never seen, or even heard of, before. He looked confident and strong, with slightly wavy though fairly short dark blond hair, strongly defined features and—and this was the really scary bit—he was about thirty centimetres* above the floor.

"Hi," said the—man?—cheerfully. "I'm Anakin Skywalker, Jedi extraordinaire. Any questions?"

"_Yes_," said Harry forcefully. "How did you arrive here without making any sound? How did you get into the house, period? What kind of a name is Anakin? What's a Jedi? And _why_ are you here?"

"Ah. Well, starting from the beginning…I arrived without making any sound because I'm not exactly alive, and I did it by using the Force, Anakin is my given name, thank-you-very-much, and I'm extremely fond of it—though it's true a lot of people call me Ani—a Jedi is someone who uses the Light side of the Force to do good and help others, and I'm here to train you to become a Jedi because you have Force-potential. I think that about covers it."

Harry stood there, jaw gaping open. It took him a few minutes to recover his equilibrium, but when he did, he shot out yet more questions. "What do you mean, you're not exactly alive? What's the Force? Why do you think I have potential in it? Why do you want me to become a Jedi?"

The Jedi raised his eyebrows. "Tell you what, why don't I start from the beginning and work my way through? I'll try to answer all the questions you asked me, as well as some that you'd ask once I was finished answering those. All right?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"The Force is a great field of energy that exists everywhere, connecting all living things. There are some people, known as either Force-sensitive people or people with Force-potential, who can manipulate the Force. This is because they have enough midichlorians in their cells. Midichlorians are small creatures that exist in the cells of all living creatures, providing a link to the Force. There are two types of Force-users; Jedi and Sith. The Sith use the Force through Dark emotions, such as anger, fear and pain. They use it to cause more anger, fear, and pain in others. The Jedi are calm when they access the Force, understanding the emotions but not letting them be overpowering. They help others, and, when necessary, combat evil. I know you have Force-potential; I can sense it in you. It's not amazing—I'd say it's slightly more than your middling Jedi. And you need to be taught to use the Force, or else you will find yourself using it anyway—and then you would probably use it when powered by negative emotions, causing devastation everywhere unless and until you were stopped."

"Wow," said Harry, shocked.

"Yeah," agreed Anakin.

"Where do we start?"

"First of all, I will become your teacher, and you my Padawan. You may address me as Master or Anakin or even Master Ani, and I will address you as Padawan or—um—what's your name?"

"Harry."

"Harry, then. Technically, you should also cut your hair and wear this weird outfit, but I think we can skip that."

"I have to call you Master?" inquired Harry.

"Consider it a mark of respect," replied Anakin good-humouredly.

"All right, I guess. Can I tell anyone about this?"

Anakin frowned thoughtfully. "For now, I'd say no; maybe later, if it's necessary, but I'd appreciate it if you'd consult with me first."

Harry nodded seriously. "Yes, Master Ani. What now?"

Anakin grinned evilly. "Now, my young Padawan, we—or rather, you—get that cookie tin back up there."

MttE

Harry waited in his room excitedly. His parents had come home just as he'd managed to get the cookie tin back up, and Master Ani had vanished—but not before promising that he'd meet Harry in his bedroom after. He'd said hi to his parents, made excuses about reading a book, and disappeared upstairs. Now, he was waiting.

He didn't have to wait for long; Master Ani appeared quickly. However, he looked serious.

"Listen, Harry," he said. "You want to be a Jedi, yes?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"Right," sighed Master Ani. "It's just…there are some complications."

"Like what?" asked Harry curiously.

"It's due to your heritage. Your grandparents."

"What do Grandpa Sammy and Grandpa Richard have to do with anything?"

Master Ani smiled. "Very little. No, it's your paternal relatives, to be precise. Especially your paternal grandfather."

"My dad's dad is _dead_," Harry pointed out.

"Ah. Um. No."

"_What?_" Harry's head hurt; first, he had the potential to become a Jedi, but then there were complications, and now Master Ani was saying that his other granddad was alive…this afternoon was getting very complicated.

Master Ani sighed. "I can't explain," he said. "If you don't know, it's not my place to tell you. The thing is, though…Well. You're being trained in diplomacy, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Jedi can't lie."

"So?" inquired Harry brightly.

Master Ani sent him an amused look. "You're not stupid, and neither are your parents. Do you really think that you'd be trained in diplomacy if they weren't eventually expecting you to use it?"

Harry shook his head dolefully.

"Quite. This means that part of your training will be learning to misdirect and deceive without lying—a lot like what you're learning now, actually."

Harry brightened right back up.

"But there's another problem," continued Master Ani. "Your ancestors have largely gotten to where they are by being willing to do _anything_ to get what they wanted. This wasn't necessarily bad, as mostly what they wanted was to save lives, but it's still what they did. And it's something you _can't _do."

"Why not?" demanded Harry.

"You have the ability to access the Force," said Master Ani simply. "Great good can be done with the Force, but so can great evil. It's balance. And so a Force-user who does any evil does great evil, and a Force-user who does any good does great good. I'm assuming you want to be on the side of the good-doers."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess."

Master Ani smiled. "Good. Now, the _first _ exercise you have to learn is meditation…


	7. Chapter Six

_**A/N: I told you this would be out sooner! It's been, what, eleven days? And that's counting the six or so days I spent in the country, where I couldn't work on this. Also, it is, as promised, much longer! It is, in fact, the longest chapter so far, story-wise. I think chapter four might have more actual **_**words**_**, due to the length of the Author's note, but this one has more story.**_

**_And yes, if you're interested, there _is _a reason Harry thinks about clothes. It's quite simple: he inherited it from his grandfather. Also, I thought it was slightly humorous._**

**_Disclaimer: I am very emphatic that I do, in fact, own the plot of this story. However, that's the _only _thing in this story that I own._**

Lily smiled, watching her soon-to-be-ten-year-old son play with his best friend. _It's really quite cute, _she reflected. Though she was sure her son wouldn't appreciate the comment.

Her smile turned to a faint thoughtful frown as a thought struck her, and she turned to Neville's Gran. "Augusta," she said, "What's that around Neville's neck? A watch, is it?"

Augusta smiled and nodded approvingly. "Oh yes, Lily. Quite a special watch."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "Who's it attuned to?" she questioned. "You?"

Augusta's smile became wry. "Me," she agreed. "And Harry."

"Oh," said Lily softly. "Um…I assume you've attuned it to Harry James Potter?"

Augusta sent her a sharp look. "Yes," she agreed. "The name on the hand is just Harry, and I'm represented as Gran, but yes."

"Um." Lily bit her lip. "I…there's…that's…well, what if Harry were to change his name? Later?"

Augusta's look, already sharp, grew stronger. "It wouldn't matter," she said slowly. "Lily, dear, you know this. His birth name will remain with him for his whole life. Even if he changes his name, it will still be attuned to him." Then her face cleared, and she smiled softly. "Unless, I suppose," she added, "Harry James Potter isn't his birth name."

Lily winced. "I'm sorry, Augusta. I…it's not my secret to tell. I hope you're not—"

Augusta cut her off gently. "It's quite all right, Lily. We all have our secrets to keep. Would you mind fixing it, though? Because if he does eventually assume his birth name, I'd like Neville to still be able to keep track of him."

Lily nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Augusta. Yes, I'll certainly fix it."

"Neville!" Augusta called sharply. "Could you come here, please?"

Neville broke off his play with Harry and trotted over obediently, Harry following not far behind.

"I'm worried your watch might get damaged, dear," she said. "It might open up accidentally. Would you please give it to me until you're finished playing?"

Neville was clearly bemused—Lily could see _But that's never happened before _passing over his face—but he pulled the chain over his shoulder and handed it to his grandmother.

"Thank you, dear," said Augusta. "You may return to your game now." Harry, grinning enthusiastically, tugged on Neville and they returned quickly to their play.

"Here you are, Lily," said Augusta, handing over the watch. "Do fix it before they're done."

Lily nodded then quickly left the room. She walked to the bathroom, then touched the necklace around her neck and whispered, "Petunia." Suddenly, the pendant hanging from it transformed into a wand. _Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow. Good for charm work,_ she thought, her mind echoing the words of the wandmaker all those years ago.

She picked it up and instantly felt a warm, soothing current. It had been years since she'd held her wand, and it was clearly glad to be back where it considered it belonged.

She ignored the warmth and opened the watch. She conjured a needle and pricked herself; wincing, she allowed a drop of blood to fall onto the hand marked Harry. "Harry James Potter is Prince Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James MacClintock, heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man," she whispered, all the while touching the watch hand with her wand. The hand flashed a bright silver, and the blood disappeared, leaving the watch exactly as it had been before.

It was, she supposed, mildly risky to do this, but she trusted Augusta: she knew the old lady would not attempt to scry out her son's true identity. She touched the wand and whispered, "Sacrifice," and the wand returned to its pendant form, hanging on the chain around her neck.

She returned to the party and handed Augusta the watch. "There," she said quietly. "All fixed."

Augusta smiled at her. "Thank you, dear," she said, matching Lily's volume. "It will be a great relief to Neville."

James interrupted them. "Lily flower," he declared loudly, "why aren't you dancing? Come on." She laughed as James picked her up and twirled her around, and let her worries fade to the back of her mind—until tonight; when, she knew, her son would be told the truth. She just hoped he'd take it well…

MttE

Harry glanced around, somewhat nervous. Today was his birthday; he'd receive challenges for the next year of his life and, often, a clue as to what the secret surrounding his father was.

This year, though, things were different. His parents were always tense around this time, but this year they were positively _nervous_. Mum kept biting her lip and Dad was continually ruffling his hair, putting it back into order then ruffling it up again.

He waited patiently, the seconds ticking by, until it was—finally—twelve. His parents exchanged a glance and his father opened his mouth then closed it, before looking pleadingly at Harry's Mum.

Lily knelt down on one knee, putting their faces closer together. "Harry, dear," she said hesitantly, "there's something…we've kept from you."

Harry almost laughed. _That _was what they were worried about? He'd known that for as long as he could remember. "Oh, I know _that_," he said airily. "Pretty obvious, if you ask me."

From the looks on their faces, his parents hadn't anticipated this. Harry didn't know why; they knew he was intelligent, they'd _trained _him to be observant and it wasn't as if there weren't enough clues, if you knew them both well enough.

"Oh," said Mum, faintly shocked. "Um. I don't suppose you know _what _we haven't told you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head reluctantly. "It's got something to do with the Imperial family, especially the Emperor," he confided, "but I haven't been able to work out anything more than that."

His mother stood up again as she and his father traded rueful glances. "Shows us for training him, I suppose," said Mum, a trace of humour in her voice. His father nodded agreement, likewise amused.

"No kidding," Dad said, then let out a long, long sigh. "Harry," he said. "Just as your name isn't Harry James Potter, my name isn't James Jonathan Potter."

Harry nodded, absorbing the information. "What about Mum?" he asked curiously.

Mum grinned. "No, my name is real," she confirmed, still amused. "Lily Cecelia Evans Potter, that's me. Well, sort of. Potter isn't your dad's real last name, so technically I share his true one."

Harry nodded again. "What _is _your name, Daddy?" he inquired.

"Ah," said Dad. "This is the surprising bit. Um. My real name, in full, is Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock, Heir Secondary to the Throne of Man."

Harry squeaked. He couldn't help it; he'd thought up several situations, but this _wasn't_ one of them. "Then…" he said tentatively. "Then I'm…"

His father nodded solemnly. "Your true name, in full," he confirmed, "is Prince Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James MacClintock, Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man."

Harry sat down; he had to. A Jedi, he knew, was supposed to be serene at all times, completely unshakable, but he was only a Padawan and, in any case, this was a _huge_ surprise.

"Um," he managed after a minute or two. "That was…unexpected."

His dad grinned. "Good," he said decisively. "It wouldn't have been any fun if you'd known _everything_."

"James!" said Lily, amused. She poked him, laughing.

He grinned. "Come on, Lily Flower," he said, laughter in his voice. "You have to admit it's fun shocking people."

"I don't have to admit anything," she returned, still poking. "Honestly, James." She switched her attention back to her now ten-year-old son. "Harry," she said gently. "Or Harold, I suppose. How do you feel about all this?"

"Um," said Harry. "I…I'm shocked, I guess, but I'm not angry. I understand why you couldn't tell me. I'll probably get over the shock, too. It's just…I _really _hadn't expected any of this. My favourite theory was that Dad used to be one of the Empress' Own, but for some reason was forced to leave. I couldn't find you on their records when I looked it up, though, so I figured either I was wrong or that James Potter wasn't your real name." He considered this for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey, dad?" he asked.

"Yeah, Harry?" his father replied.

"Why _did _you leave Earth, anyway?"

"Oh," said his father, now looking distinctly embarrassed. "Weeelll, I was fifteen years old at the time, you understand, and I was angry, and probably not making the best judgement, and—"

His Mum cut off his Dad in mid-sentence. "What your father is trying to say," she said, gentle humour in her voice, "is that he ran away."

He gaped at his Dad. "Dad," he said flatly, "I love you. But you can be a moron."

His Dad blushed. "Your Mum said the exact same thing," he noted. "It embarrassed me then, too. But Harry," he continued, suddenly serious, "though I can't say I was making a good judgement at the time, I do think it was one of my better decisions. If I _hadn't _run away, I would never have met Lily, and I wouldn't have had you. In fact," he added, voice once more filled with humour, "it could be said that you owe your life to my teenage impulsiveness!"

Harry looked around for a cushion on the couch and, having found one, threw it at his Dad, who caught it easily. Harry stuck out his tongue, and his father grinned brightly in return, before lobbing the pillow back at Harry.

Lily snatched the pillow out of the air in mid-flight. "None of that, now," she cautioned them, her stern expression ruined by the twitching of her lips. "Come on, Harry. I know you've had quite a shock, so I want you to go to bed soon. But do you have any questions?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "Quite a few. Will I ever meet my aunt and my grandparents? What are my challenges this year? Who else knows about this?"

James shrugged. "You'll probably meet Mum, Dad and Alex one day—I don't think that my cover will hold out for that long. And they don't know that I'm alive—it'll be quite a shock, I suppose. No one else knows about this, or at any rate neither I nor Lily have told anyone. As for your challenges: well, you can't have a tute*. I'm sorry, but it just isn't safe. I'm betting that you will get one, eventually, but only after we're found out: there's a very specific way to make the Imperial toots. This means that you'll have to memorize some codes and things, things that normally you're toot would provide. Also—you cannot tell _anyone_. Not even Neville, is that clear?"

Harry nodded reluctantly.

"I know you want too, and I trust Neville, but someone could overhear you, and it's just not safe. Maybe one day. Other than that, you'll continue on as normal."

Harry nodded, still looking slightly dizzy. "I'm off to bed, then," he said. "Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad. See you tomorrow!" And with that he was off, up the stairs and into his bed.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" his Mum called up after him. She looked after him, then shrugged, turning back to his dad. "Well, one night probably can't hurt, she confided to him, and that was the last thing Harry heard before his head hit the pillow and he fell asleep.

MttE

Harry Potter—_no, that's not my name,_ he told himself. Harold MacClintock stared at the ceiling above his bed. It was morning, and he was still slightly stunned by the news he'd received the night before.

"Master Ani?" he called softly. "Master Ani, are you there?"

A slightly glowing figure materialized beside his bed. "Hello, Padawan," said Master Ani.

"Master Ani, did you know about this?" asked Harry.

"About what?" inquired Anakin, looking innocent.

Harry looked at him sternly, and Anakin sighed, suddenly serious. "Yes, I knew," he said, voice somber. "I knew." He appeared to brace himself.

"Okay," said Harry, nodding thoughtfully.

Master Ani blinked. "You're not going to accuse me?" he said, seemingly startled. "No tantrums? No cries of 'how could you keep something like that from me?'"

Harry shook his head. "Master Ani," he said rather dryly, "I'm ten years old and a Padawan. I was shocked, but…I've learned about keeping secrets. I haven't told anyone I'm learning to be a Jedi; Neville looks gloomy whenever I mention turning eleven, but he won't tell me why; I've known that there was something different about my parents for a while. Secrets," he concluded with an amused tone in his voice, "are familiar ground to me. I'm not about to scream accusations of betrayal. _Especially _since I'm a Jedi apprentice. Betrayal leads to anger, which leads to hate, which leads to the Dark Side," he paraphrased dryly.

Master Ani grinned, looking relieved. "I guess I trained you better than I thought," he remarked. "Good for you. Now, speaking of being a Padawan, have you been practicing meditation?"

Harry made a face. "Yech, I hate meditation. But yeah, I've been practicing."

Master Ani grinned. "When I was your age, I thought the exact same thing. Seriously, though, Harry, it's good practice. Believe me. I didn't believe _my_ Master, and look how I ended up!"

Harry looked confused. "A Jedi?"

"I suppose," said Master Ani, his face suddenly blank. "I was referring more to the dead bit, myself."

"Oh," said Harry, blushing and glancing down. "Right. I'm sorry."

Master Ani smiled, a gentle light in his kind blue eyes. "There's no need apologize, Harry," he said softly. "Thank you, though."

Harry nodded and looked back up before glancing at the chronometer. "Master Ani, I want to go work at Sensei's now. I'll work on meditation later, I promise."

"Weeell," Master Ani stretched the word, considering it, "all right. But I want you to put some serious effort into it, okay?"

Harry nodded exaggeratedly. "Okay, okay," he agreed rapidly. "See you!"

Master Ani winked. "Bye, Padawan," he said, and faded away.

Harry made a face. "Bloody meditation," he muttered. "I swear…" He went over to his cupboard and pulled out his gi and his green belt, stuffing them into a bag. He glanced down at himself and realized with a start that he'd never changed out of his clothes from yesterday. _Let's see,_ he thought as he trolled the closet, _not this…this is too fancy…not at this time of year…ah, this'll do!_ He pulled out a loose t-shirt and some sweatpants, neither of which were overly fancy. In fact, they were both rather grubby and were beginning to look worn out—but he didn't really intend to use them for much; he just wanted to wear them to and from the dojo, and he didn't want to ruin any of his nice clothes by getting sweat on them.

He strolled out of his room and down the stairs, noticing that his parents weren't up yet. They'd said that they weren't as young as he was and couldn't stay up till midnight and then wake up early, so he wasn't terribly surprised. Nevertheless, he needed to go to Sensei's, and his parents would have a fit if they woke to find him gone.

Shrugging internally, he left a note on the table. His parents would see it and understand. He was still somewhat shocked, and hopefully he could work that off in karate—and besides, he wanted that blue belt. A lot. He knew that, as a Jedi apprentice, he shouldn't want material things, but Master Ani had told him that it was perfectly okay. "Besides," he'd added, "things have changed quite a bit. And it's perfectly fine to take pride in your own accomplishments, and to know your own worth—just be careful that it doesn't lead to arrogance."

Harry decided to walk over to the dojo. It wasn't far, and it wasn't as if he needed a ride—he could have biked, he supposed, but Sensei didn't have much of a place to put one. And besides, walking was more fun.

He arrived at the doorway and rang the doorbell, noting as he did so that he'd grown quite a bit in not quite three years: when he'd been seven, he'd had to reach above his head to reach the doorbell, but now it was comfortably at shoulder level.

He waited, but not for long: Sensei opened the door quite quickly. "Ah," he said, sounding happy. "Do come in, Harry. Happy birthday—I am sorry I could not be there."

Harry shrugged. "It's okay," he said easily. "You've got stuff to do. And your present was great," he added, grinning brightly.

Sensei smiled slightly in return. "Excellent," he said approvingly. "Come in. I am glad you liked your gift; it was time you got some gloves, in any case. You cannot keep borrowing mine."

Harry's grin broadened as he stepped into the entrance hall and removed his socks and shoes. "Ah, but Sensei, it was so much _fun! _And I didn't destroy _that_ many, _really_."

Sensei snorted. "You've set a record," he observed dryly. "You are a green belt, and you have set a record of sparring gloves destroyed. There is something wrong with that. Hurry up and get changed," he added.

Harry did so, hurrying ahead to the now-familiar changing room. He put his former clothes in the bag and withdrew his karate uniform, putting it on with the ease of long practice. He then left the room, only to find that Sensei was nowhere in sight.

"Come on," Sensei's voice came drifting up from the dojo. "Hurry up, I said. You are slower than molasses in midwinter."

Harry grinned and did so, taking the stairs two at a time. He'd been lectured for doing so, but it was fun! And besides, he hadn't gotten hurt.

"You're going to kill yourself doing that one of these days," observed Sensei in a probably knowing echo of Harry's thoughts.

Harry grinned. "Ah, but until I do I'll _enjoy _life."

Sensei raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. Now, get on the mats and warm up."

Harry did so, but as he began the familiar routine of jumping jacks followed by splits followed by butterfly and so on, his thoughts began to drift. He didn't blame his parents or Master Ani for not telling him, not at all, but he couldn't help but wonder about his future…and even about himself. He'd known, for a very long time, that there was something his parents weren't telling him—after all, it wasn't very many people who had secret names that were spoken about once a year, though always kept in mind—but he hadn't anticipated anything like this, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was still the same person. Could the Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man really be some guy raised on one of the Outer Rim planets? It seemed ridiculous, and yet he knew his parents weren't lying to him. If only—

His Sensei's voice cut into his thoughts. "Perform the katas," instructed his karate teacher.

Harry nodded, and automatically began to go through the motions of the first kata: down block, punch, down block, hammerfist, punch, down block…his muscles remembered, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Stop," ordered his Sensei. Harry looked up in surprise; had he made a mistake? He hoped not. Making a mistake was embarrassing in the best of circumstances, but doing so in the first kata…that would be mortifying.

"No," said his Sensei, correctly interpreting his expression, "you made not mistake in the movements of the kata. But your thoughts are elsewhere; you are not intense, not focusing."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling like it should have been obvious to him where he'd gone wrong. "I'm sorry. It's just…I found out something that kind of shocked me, last night, and I guess it's shot my concentration to pieces."

Sensei nodded, as if Harry had confirmed a guess of his. "You have discovered that your Father is the missing prince," he said simply. "And that would make you Heir Tertiary, yes?"

Harry stopped breathing for a moment, resulting in a long bout of coughing when the air he'd been inhaling had gone in wrong. When he finally got his breath back, he began to speak. "How did you know?" he demanded, shocked. "They said they didn't tell anyone!"

"Your parents, I presume?" said Sensei calmly. Harry nodded, and his Sensei continued. "They did not tell me. But I could guess. I…I was an Imperial Marine, once. Before the coup, guarding Prince Sirius. I was a member of the Bronze Battalion of the Emperor's Own."

Harry's mouth gaped open before he could stop it. He abruptly shut it. "You were a member of the _Emperor's Own_?" he managed to squeak.

Sensei's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Is it really so hard to believe?" he inquired. "Yes, I was."

"I…wow. Why haven't you turned him in?" A sudden suspicion lit in Harry's brain. "You haven't, have you?"

Sensei shook his head. "I have not. As to why…well, he seemed safe enough. His best protection is his anonymity—I was very lucky to guess, and would not have done so had I not been part of the Emperor's Own when he was at the palace, and had you not been my student and provided me with an opportunity to know him. And…I think Prince Sirius would have liked it." The last sentence carried a wistful tone to it that Harry had never heard from his sensei before.

"I…wow," Harry repeated, shaking his head from side to side. "Uh…I guess I'm going to have to tell Dad," he added in sudden anxiety.

His Sensei shrugged. "I will do so," he said calmly. "It was my guess, after all. You merely confirmed it. You might," he added, "want to watch that."

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully. "And I will."

"Good," said Sensei. "And it is no trouble," he added mischievously. "I cannot wait to see the look on your father's face!"

*Stands for tutorial implant. A device, implanted in the brain, that stores information and provides it when needed. It can also translate whatever one is saying into a different language, provided that a) the tute is equipped to do so, and b) it has the language stored. These devices are very useful. However, without proper security, they can be hacked, and the hacker then controls the person which the tute they hacked is implanted in.


	8. Chapter Seven

**_A/N: Well, in this chapter, things take a decided turn. It's mostly been sweetness and light in this story--except for the coup, anyways--but now, something sad happens._**

**_I wasn't completely satisfied with the chapter, but I think it turned out pretty good, after all. And it's even longer than the last one!_**

**_Disclaimer: I own not Harry Potter, nor the Prince Roger saga, nor Star Wars. Those are all property of various different people who, as mentioned, aren't me. I do own this particular crossover, though._**

Chapter Seven

Neville grinned at his Gran, a bright light in his eyes. "That was great, Gran!" he enthused happily. "Harry's gonna _love _to hear about this! It's a shame he couldn't come." Suddenly, the light in his eyes faded, and a sadness seemed to come over him.

"Yes, it is," agreed Gran, coming over to his bed in the hotel room they'd rented and sitting next to him. "But there's something else bothering you, isn't there, dear?"

He shrugged, not looking at her. "It's no big deal, really," he muttered uncomfortably.

She sighed, tucking a loose sprig of hair behind her ear. "It's Harry, isn't it?" she questioned gently.

He nodded gloomily. "I…magic is great, Gran, and I want to go to Hogwarts, but…he's _Harry! _He was my first friend, and…I don't want to leave him."

Gran looked at him, a strange expression on her face. Her eyes examined him carefully, then she seemed to come to a decision. "Neville, dear," she said, her voice still gentle. "I can't guarantee anything, I can't promise you, but I'm reasonably sure that you won't be the only eleven-year-old receiving an invitation to Hogwarts on July 31st."

Neville looked up, an expression of astonished hope on his face. "Gran," he whispered hopefully, "do you mean…Harry?"

Her eyes brightened, and a smile lit her face. "I do indeed," she said. "I'm not sure, but I think so."

Her grandson launched himself at her, wrapping his arms tightly around his Gran. "Thank you," said Neville ebulliently. "_Thank _you."

Gran grinned, a rare expression for her, and hugged Neville tight. "It's a pleasure, Neville," she said simply.

Suddenly, he whitened, and drew back. He grasped frantically for the watch around his neck, taking more than one try to grasp it in his panic. Finally managing to grab it, he drew it out from beneath his shirt and opened it, his eyes frantically searching it.

"What is it, Neville?" asked Gran, confused.

He turned the red-hot watch towards her, and she saw that the hand labelled _Harry _was pointing towards _Mortal Danger_…

MttE

Some time earlier…

Harry sat in the grass in front of his grandparents' grave, the leaves of grass tickling at his crossed legs.

"Hey, Grandpa Richard, Grandma Sammie," he said softly. "I'd ask you how you're doing, but you're not really around to answer. I hope you're happy, though, in the afterlife. If there is one.

"Mum tells me stories about you, sometimes, when I ask it. Sometimes when I don't. She told me the one about the broom, the sheep and the pillow." He frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, I don't think she ever told me how she got up there in the first place." He shook his head, as if to dislodge stray thoughts.

"I…that's not what I'm here for, anyway. I still can't quite believe that heir thing. I wonder if Mum and Dad ever told you about it? I don't think so.

"I mean…I'm _me_. Harry James Potter. Except that I'm not, not really. And…it's weird, to think that about me. I mean, I've pretty much always known that there's something different about me—for one thing, I'm a Padawan learner—but I never expected this.

"And I can't tell Neville, either. It's so hard! He worries about me—you knew how he is. It's been harder than I'd have thought, not telling him anything.

"Speaking of Neville, there's something he's not telling me, though I can't think of what it could be. Well, I'm pretty sure it has something to do with our eleventh birthday. He tenses up when I mention it." A sigh. "I've gotten pretty good at piecing together secrets, I think. I guess I've had a lot of practice."

He sat there, in silence, for perhaps another five minutes, before getting up and walking to the gates of the cemetery. He'd gotten up early this morning for the express purpose of talking to his no-longer-here grandparents. He did this, sometimes, when things were bothering him; when they'd been alive, Grandpa Richard and Grandma Sammie had been a great source of comfort and advice. They'd died not from any illness or injury, but from an accident. _Don't drink and drive_, he thought sourly. It was great advice; if only the person driving the vehicle that had crashed into his grandparents as they were doing their Christmas shopping had listened to it.

Still, the man had done his jail time, and Harry had met the perpetrator; eyes red-rimmed and feeling guilty, he'd apologized to Harry and his family repeatedly. Harry had forgiven him; Aris Duberco wasn't likely to ever do the same again, and had actually started joining the local anti-drinking and driving campaign. Every cloud had a silver lining, he supposed.

Harry shivered suddenly, the awareness of the cold coming back to him. It was early spring, and though the climate was fairly warm here and there wasn't any snow on the ground, it was hardly balmy at 4.7°C. He tugged his jacket around him closer, and began to hurry back to his home.

Suddenly, he heard a large crash, and a bright spout of fire lit the sky. Harry snapped his head around to stare in worried amazement at the weapons—it _must _be weapons, though what they were doing here he wasn't sure—that boomed across the city. He continued to stare for maybe five seconds before his brain started working again, and he suddenly made the connection.

_Pirates_, he thought, turning white with fear, _it's got to be. But what would pirates want with us? They must be pretty desperate. Still, desperate or not, they can do damage…oh no! Mum and Dad!_

Without sparing a second thought to his own safety, he took off in the direction of his house and home, hoping desperately that he did not arrive there too late.

MttE

He was panicking as he ran, his thoughts scattered in every direction at once. _What if they're killed? _He wondered frantically. _What if Sensei's killed? At least Neville and his Gran are off-planet…goddamnit, what if they're _killed_?_

He ran, as fast as he could, using the Force to help him as best he could. He ran on, and on, and on, ignoring the burning in his lungs. His thoughts, normally clear, blurred together in one long spew of exhaustion and fear: _Letthembeallright, _please, _please…_

His legs carried him onward, taking him swiftly past the streets of his hometown, more swiftly than he'd known he could move; in some far-off corner of his mind that wasn't panicking, he noted that he was using the Force very efficiently, and that Master Ani would be proud. Most of his being, however, was concentrated into one goal and one hope: _Let me get there in time. Let them be all right._

He sped around the corner of the street his house was on, throwing himself down the street until he came to—

Where his house had been, there was now a broken collection of still-burning debris, and two broken bodies.

_Please, no,_ thought Harry as he cautiously approached the corpses. _Please, let it be anyone else, just not…_

But one of the things had long red hair, and the other had hair that was black and scruffy, and when he went close up their empty eyes were hazel and a faded, once-bright green.

He collapsed next to his dead mother, hugging his knees to him and rocking, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It felt like he stayed there for hours, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes when he heard a voice calling his name.

"Harry," said the voice. "Oh, Force. Harry, come on."

Harry looked up into the worried and guilt-ridden eyes of his glowing Jedi Master. "Tell me," he whispered, and his voice was hoarse and raw. He supposed he'd been screaming and crying, though he hadn't noticed it. "Tell me that you didn't know this was going to happen, Master Ani. You said Jedi can see the future, sometimes."

"Oh, Force, Harry." The Force-ghost knelt beside his padawan. "I swear to you, I didn't know that this was coming—that _anything _like this was coming. If I had, I would have told you, believe me."

"Thank you," said Harry, numbly grateful. "Thank you."

"Harry, we need to get you out of here. The Marines are coming, but the pirates are still here—you need help. We need to find someone."

"I can't…" was the grief-stricken boy's only reply.

"Harry." This time, Master Ani's voice was stern. "Listen to me. You are a _Jedi_, even if only a padawan. You need to grieve, but you can't do that if you're dead. Release your emotions into the Force, _now._"

Harry stared blankly at the Jedi for a few seconds, before concentrating and trying to do as he was told. He managed to clear his mind, yet he could still feel the emotions raging within him.

"Sensei," he said finally. "Sensei was in the Marines. He'll know what to do."

"Good choice," Master Ani approved. "Let's find hi—wait, no need. He's coming towards us right now."

Harry glanced up and, sure enough, his sensei was running towards him, a deep look of worry on his usually near-unreadable face. As he saw Harry, some of that turned to relief, but as he spotted the corpses, his face read shock and grief before closing off.

"Harry," said his Master from the side. "I've got to go now. But listen to your sensei, all right? He's a smart man."

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the approaching man, and his Master faded away.

"Harry," said Sensei as he reached the boy. "You are unharmed."

Harry nodded numbly. "Yes, I guess so."

"We must leave, now, get to the woods—there aren't any spoils now, and we know them better than the pirate. We need to hide until the Marines come."

"Right," said Harry. Then he exhaled deeply, and nodded. "Right." Standing, he clutched his sensei's hand. "I'll follow you."

Sensei shook his head. "No. You are too small. I will carry you, and we will make better time."

Before his student could protest, he had hoisted the boy onto his shoulders. "Cling tightly," he instructed, and began to run.

It was almost a half hour before they reached the woods. Normally, even with Harry on his back, such a run would have taken Saeran Daedalus ten to fifteen minutes. As it was, he'd had to take several byways to avoid the raiders.

As soon as he reached the trees, he slowed to a walk, scanning the trees around them. He needed cover—shelter against any weather, a place for he and Harry to rest while they talked. It would help if said place had a view to the outside, but it wasn't necessary.

Finally, he came upon a broad patch of therin trees, a species native to this planet that provided shelter under its thick, low-hanging branches. He lifted them up and crawled under them to the trunk of the tree. He set Harry on the ground and noted, with some faint spectre of amusement, that Harry had fallen into a doze during their search for shelter. He wished he cold let the boy rest, but there wasn't time; the Marines would be here, soon enough, and they had to decide what to do before then.

"Harry," he said gently. "Harry. Wake up."

The boy stirred, groaning gently. "Uh?"

"We need to speak, Harry."

"Wass…wassup?" The prince sat up, accidentally bonking his head on one of the branches. "Ow," he remarked, wincing mildly. "That hurt. Ah, Sensei? What's…"

Daedalus could tell when the memories of the last hour came crashing through his memory; his eyes widened and his face paled, losing all hint of good humour.

"Force," he whispered, before looking up at his sensei.

Daedalus made a note of this…curse?…he'd not heard it before, anywhere, and wondered where the boy had gotten it.

"Indeed, Harry," he said, agreeing with the sentiment behind the word. "Harry…though I would let you rest, we must talk.

The boy nodded slowly, soberly. "What about?" he replied.

"Your parents are dead. Aside from we two, they were the only ones who knew who you are, correct?"

A glimpse of something passed across his student's face, gone too quickly for him to identify. "Yes," agreed the orphan.

"You have no other living relations who know about your existence, am I not right? Your mother—I believe she once mentioned that she'd had a sister, but she is now dead."

Harry nodded.

"Your maternal grandparents are dead, as well."

Another nod.

"Harry…I would fight for your custody, and were you any normal child I would likely gain it, having been your teacher and a family friend for several years now. However…there is a chance, a large chance, that were I to do so, your secret would come out. I do not want it to be revealed all willy-nilly. Quite frankly, I do not wish it to be revealed for a long time, if ever. Yet it seems we no longer have that option. It is your choice, of course, Harry. But…"

Harry's eyes focused intensely on him. "Yes?"

"But I think that your best choice would be to come out. Let me explain," he added as Harry opened his mouth.

Harry nodded. "Very well," he replied.

"I am not proposing that we shout it to anyone we meet, willy-nilly. But the marines will be arriving soon, and I think we should take it to the leader of a squad. I have codes that will make them listen to me, at least, and unless I am very much mistaken you have codes to back up your claim, too. It is likely that we will be taken back to Earth, and your claim verified. Once it is proved true, you will certainly have guardians."

The boy considered this. He tilted his head to the side and stared at his teacher. "You…you'll come with me, right?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding much younger.

Daedalus hadn't been anticipating this question—though he should have now that he thought about it—and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Yes," he answered finally. "Yes, my prince. I will come with you. I will stay at least until your claim is confirmed, and longer than that if you wish it." He smiled suddenly, teeth flashing sword-like. "From now on, you may consider me your bodyguard."

For a long minute, Harry lay back against the tree, staring at nothing. The prince's parents—and, Daedalus fancied, himself—had taught the boy well; nothing of his thoughts passed across his face. Finally, he looked back up at his teacher/bodyguard, and nodded.

"All right," he said. "We'll do it."

Sergeant-Major William Dupuis hated pirates. His family came from a border world, and while pirate raids in that part of the sector were now almost extinct—largely thanks to the Emperor—they had once been almost common. His uncle had died in one of those raids, leaving a mourning wife and two, half-orphaned kids. That was one of the reasons he'd joined the Marines in the first place—that, and a desire to make sure that as many lives as possible were spared the pirates' plucking.

The pirates were all gone, now—_too many escaped_, he thought angrily, _way more than normal_—and now they had to find any refugees. To that end he'd led his team into the woods, hoping to find some more survivors there. There had been, as there always was, too many dead bodies. There were several survivors, but he hoped to find yet more.

Even so, he wasn't expecting a young boy—couldn't have been more than ten, he judged reflexively—and a man—maybe the boy's father?—who moved with a fighter's grace to come popping out of a tree. His heart skipped a beat in surprise and he instinctively reached for his gun, managing to stop the reaction before he actually got there.

"I am Sergeant-Major William Dupuis," he said to the man. "If you and your son would come with us, we will take you back to the town. The pirates have fled and it is safe.

The man's teeth glinted in a tiger-smile, but he did not speak.

Instead, the boy did. "We will come with you," he said, voice layered with an authority that far outstripped his age, "but not just to the town, Sergeant-Major."

The Sergeant-Major felt vaguely unsettled. This…wasn't what he'd expected. It seemed that for some reason, the boy, not the man, was in charge here. "What?" he asked.

"This man," the boy continued, "is not my father. My father and mother were both killed, when the pirates attacked."

Dupuis nodded. He felt sorry for the kid—but it looked like he still had a protector, so he was better off than some. "What were their names?" he inquired.

The boy smiled tightly. "My mother's name was Lily Cecilia Evans Potter. For his time here, my father was known was known as James Jonathan Potter."

The boy's words stirred a vague memory in the Sergeant-Major's name. _Jonathan... James..._

"His actual name, however," continued the black-haired lad, "was Prince Jonathan Romulus Vorthalya James Alexander MacClintock. I, his son, am named Harold Alexander D'nall Damion James MacClintock."

"This," the boy—prince?—added as Dupuis' world spun, indicating the man beside him, "is Saeran Daedalus, formally of the Bronze Battalion of the Emperor's Own, and my bodyguard."

There was a long, long silence. Finally, the Sergeant-Major spoke. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Do you have…ah…any proof of these claims?"

The boy nodded. "My father gave me some in case I ever needed them. If needed, you can check my DNA, as well. It will reveal that I speak the truth. Confirmation Code…" As the boy reeled off his code, the Sergeant Major's thoughts spun in his head. The code was…correct, though old. And this man looked very much like he was part of the royal family.

"Ah…would you, care to come with me, Harold?" He'd decided on the boy's first name as the safest form of address. "Your bodyguard too, of course," he added after seeing the look on the man's face.

The boy nodded. As they set off, the only thought in his head was this: _This is _way _above my pay grade…_

Harry walked just in front of Sensei, though behind the Marines. The look on the Sergeant-Major's face when he'd revealed his name would have been funny, had he not been so tired and grief-ridden. As it was, he could only plod along, waiting for this ordeal to be over.

He listened as the Sergeant-Major—Dupuis was his name, Harry thought—communicated with his commander.

"Admiral," said Dupuis, "there's…well, there's a boy down here who is making some very outlandish claims. He says that the lost prince lived here, and that he's the lost prince's son. He has a man with him whom he claims is Saeran Daedalus, one of the only survivors of Bronze Battalion from the attempted coup. Over."

There was a pause as he received an answer.

"I…think he's telling the truth, sir. He knows some codes…there was some stuff I didn't recognize, though you might, Admiral. And he looks as if he's related to the Emperor. And Daedalus matches his bodyguard's ID. Should I bring him up, sir?"

"Very good, Admiral." He cut the link and looked down at Harry. "Well, Harold," he said. "We're going up."

Admiral Truman was, he thought, good at his job. He had to be, or he wouldn't be an Admiral—not with Emperor Roger on the throne. Nevertheless, until now, his job had been…well, not unpolitical—it was pretty impossible to be unpolitical and still be an admiral—but nevertheless, as unpolitical as it was possible for an Admiral to be.

He'd never dealt with _anything _like having a possible heir dumped in his lap, before.

And it looked like the boy—prince—was telling the truth; the DNA taken from the body he'd identified as his father appeared to match the lost prince's, and the boy's DNA indicated that he was his father's son—and Saeran Daedalus was certainly who he said he was.

He sighed, and activated the door. It slid open, revealing a Harold MacClintock, Saeran Daedalus and William Dupuis, along with Sarah Miller—a soldier from Dupuis' squad (he wasn't going to tell anyone he didn't have to)—as guards.

"Please, have a seat, Harold," he invited.

"Thank you, Admiral," said the boy in a coldly polite voice, and did so. Daedalus stood immediately behind and slightly to the left of the prince.

Truman cleared his throat. "It appears that your claims are true, Your Highness," he said. "However, we're going to have to send you back to Earth to verify them completely. With the recent spate of pirate attacks, I'm needed out here, so I'm going to be sending a ship to escort you. No one outside of that ship, with the exception of me—and the Imperial family and some of their security, of course—will know what's going on. This is for safety reasons," he added hurriedly, upon seeing the boy's raised eyebrow.

Harold nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Is this to happen now?"

The Admiral shook his head. "I need a few hours to brief everyone and prepare the ship," he explained. "In the meantime, your guards will escort you to some quarters, where you can rest."

The prince nodded his understanding. "Thank you," he repeated. "I and my bodyguard appreciate it. If that is all…?"

"That's all, Your Highness," confirmed Truman. "I'll see you before you leave."

The black-haired figure nodded, and rose from his seat. The quartet exited the room, leaving Truman alone with his busy thoughts.

And his thoughts were very busy, indeed. For instance, he was wondering what, exactly, he was going to put in the message to Emperor Roger…

They'd been escorted to their room and left alone, their guards—Dupuis and another from his squad—now standing outside the door. Harry was so grateful to have a few hours rest, he could cry.

"You did well, Harry," said the warm voice of his Sensei. "I am proud of you."

"Thank you," whispered Harry. "It was…hard."

"You did not show it," answered his teacher/bodyguard gently. "Come, now, you can sleep. There is a bed in the other room."

"Thanks," said Harry in a low voice. "Sensei…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Does the pain ever go away?"

There was a silence as Sensei thought about his answer. "Not completely," he responded, breaking the quiet. "Eventually it fades. But it will always be there with you. But I will tell you what someone once told me: the pain you feel now is the same as the love. If you did not care about them, you would not feel this pain. It may help you. And…they are watching over you, Harry, with love. I am sure of it."

This did help, if only a bit. After all, his Master was someone who was dead. He didn't think he could speak with his parents—after all, they weren't Jedi (well, not unless Ani was hiding something that huge from him, which he doubted)—but he knew, at least, that there was life after death. And there was always the Force…

As he staggered into bed for a few, sweet hours, he reached out for the Force, and fell asleep with its comforting touch surrounding him.

* * *

_**A/N: I told you it became darker! You probably weren't expecting this, though. I had it planned from the very beginning, but I loved Lily and James so much I almost changed it. I wouldn't have had much of a plot if I'd done that, though. Oh well.**_


	9. Chapter Eight

_**A/N: It's up! And I'm almost certain that this one is shorter than the last one. This is...ridiculous, actually. I'm not really pleased with this chapter, but I've given up on getting it any longer. Seriously, it's been mostly done for month . I wrote maybe another 500 words, if that, since the beginning of summer. Aargh! Well, I hope you enjoy what's here. The next chapter probably won't be up for a while, though, as always, no guarantees.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. Am getting tired of writing these things.**_

Chapter Eight

_Harry was paralysed, stuck where he stood, unable to move as he watched his parents' destruction. Lily and James stood there, side by side, surrounded by large snakes and facing a giant one._

_The giant one laughed. "_Did you really think you could flee, Lily Evans?" _it hissed, and somehow, Harry was able to understand it. "_Did you really think you could hide from my wrath?"

_His mum, ever fearless, shrugged carelessly. _"_It wasn't you I was hiding from," she answered. "You were supposed to be dead."_

_The snake gave a hissing laugh. "_Come now, did you really believe that? I'm sure the old man didn't."

_His mum tossed her hair back. "Does it really matter? What's done is done. Now, kill me and get it over with."_

_The snake laughed again. "Kill you? To be sure. But first you will watch your husband die."_

_For the first time, his mother showed emotion. She turned to James. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she said. She smiled tearfully. "You weren't the only one hiding from a previous life."_

_Her husband smiled back at her. "It's all right, Lily," he said. "We all have our secrets. I'll always love you, and Ha—" he was cut off in mid-sentence as one of the surrounding snakes lunged, striking him on his arm. He died instantly, falling into his wife's arms._

_"James," she whispered, heartbroken. "James!" she repeated more loudly, shaking him. He didn't reply, and she swore and then looked at the large snake with hate in her eyes. "You will regret the day you did this. I swear, Vo—" and then she died, falling next to her husband._

_A shooting pain hit Harry's chest just above his heart. He screamed, and screamed—it seemed that the pain would not end--_

_And then he woke._

Harry stared up into the face of his Jedi Master. "Master Ani?" he said weakly. "What just happened?"

Master Ani smiled sadly. "You were having a nightmare, Harry," he said. "You're on board Admiral Truman's ship, remember? She's called the Oracle."

"Right," said Harry, sitting up. "Right. I remember." He tried to smile, but failed miserably. "Force, Master Ani," he whispered. "I know Jedi aren't supposed to feel, but...they were my parents. I miss them so much..."

"Shh, Harry," soothed his Master. "It's all right. You're allowed to feel sorrow, and even anger. Just don't let them dominate you're life, that's all, you're allowed to grieve. Bottling up emotions doesn't help." He smiled tearfully. "I'm very proud of you, Padawan. You're handling it a lot better than I did when my mother died."

Harry sniffled, then looked up into his Master's face. "What did you do, when your Mum died? If you don't mind my asking, I mean," he added hastily.

Master Ani's eyes blanked momentarily. "Let's just say I threw a tantrum," he replied carefully. "Destroyed most of the stuff in the surrounding area."

Harry smiled, more successfully this time. "Yeah," he replied weakly. "I can see that."

His Master snorted. "Thanks, Harry," he replied dryly. "I wanted you to know how sorry I am. Your parents were marvellous people; if I could have done anything to help them, I would."

"I know," replied his Padawan. He sighed. "What time is it?"

"Around quarter to five. Why?"

"There's a ship that's going to take us to Earth. It's going to be ready soon, which means that Sensei will be up soon. I don't know if he can see you..."

"No," confirmed his teacher.

"...but it would be kind of weird if he found me talking to thin air."

His Master smiled. "Is that a hint? Well, you're probably right. I'll see you later, Harry." He began to fade away, then stopped. "I know you've been through a lot, but believe me, meditating will help. You need to keep practising."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I should have known that not even tragedy could stop you from telling me to meditate. All right, all right, I will."

"All right. Goodbye, Harry." His master finished fading, and soon there was nothing there at all.

Harry sighed, but he knew his Jedi Master was right; Anakin usually was. He assumed the meditation position, and began to meditate.

He'd only been doing so for half an hour when a knock sounded on his door. He opened his eyes and quickly sprawled out on his bed. _It's going to be hard to keep secrets from Sensei in such close quarters. I'll manage, I guess._

"Come in," he called. The door slid open, and in walked his Sensei.

"Good evening, Harry," the man said. "The ship is ready, and they are waiting for us. I see you are already awake?"

Harry shrugged. "I had a nightmare," he answered truthfully.

His sensei's eyes softened. "I see," he answered. "Come now, Harry."

He stood up and followed his sensei out of the room.

* * *

Outside, they were met by their guards, the Sergeant-Major and the woman from before. _Corporal_, thought Harry, getting a look at the stripes on her jacket. "Thank you, Sergeant-Major, Corporal," he said, nodding to them.

The guards looked as if they weren't sure what to do with their hands. "Our pleasure, Your Highness," said Dupuis finally. "This way, please."

He and Sensei followed their escort down the left corridors. "We're avoiding the populated areas of the ship," explained the Corporal. "The Admiral doesn't want you to be seen. We don't want anyone to find out you're here," she continued. "Everyone here is trusted, but we're not infallible."

They continued on for several more minutes before finally arriving at a hangar bay. A small squad was waiting for them—mostly of the Sergeant Major's squad, plus some Navy members who would do the actual flying.

They made their way across to the ship. "All right, everybody," said the Sergeant-Major. "I don't know if everyone knows why we're here..." The members of Dupuis' squad nodded, but the Navy members shook their head.

"An important escort mission," said one of them. "But we weren't told who we're escorting."

"Okay," said Dupuis. "This boy appears to be the son of the lost prince. We're escorting him back to Earth to confirm his claims completely, and then to introduce him to his grandparents."

The Navy members were well-trained; their shock only showed in a slight widening of their eyes.

Everyone got on the ship, Dupuis and the Corporal still guarding Harry. "This is the _Athos_," murmured the Corporal. "Welcome aboard, Your Highness, Mr. Daedalus."

They met aboard the Sergeant-Major's office: Harry, Sensei, the Sergeant-Major and the Corporal from before, and another soldier. "Your Highness, Mr. Daedalus," he said. "Please, have a seat." Harry did, though his sensei remained standing behind him.

"I can't be your guard and command this ship," explained Dupuis. "Though quite frankly, the only reason I'm in command of this mission is that the Admiral wanted the knowledge of....well, you...limited to as few people as possible. In any case, I'm assigning another guard to you. "You're familiar with Corporal Miller; the man beside her is Corporal Schwartz. If you need anything, they can show you where to get it. This isn't a huge ship, but neither is it teensy, and the library is quite impressive; you should have enough to entertain you for the six weeks it will take to get to Earth. Do you have any questions?"

"Not at all, Sergeant-Major," said Harry. "Thank you very much for this. I appreciate it a great deal."

The Sergeant-Major looked briefly like he wasn't sure what to say, but managed, "Not at all, Your Highness, it was my pleasure," smoothly enough.

Harry nodded, then stood and left the room, his new guards preceding him.

* * *

Behind them, Sergeant-Major Dupuis sighed. He'd never expected this; nor, it seemed, had anyone else. Oh, there were probably protocols for it in one book or another, but no one he knew—not even the Admiral, a man he greatly expected—had read that book. And now he was stuck with a cool young man who seemed to take everything in stride and was very probably the son of the lost prince, and a bodyguard who despite his complete lack of reaction to everything was obviously fiercely protective of the boy.

He didn't know a lot, but there was one thing he was sure of; it was going to be a long six weeks.

* * *

They arrived at their quarters: not spacious, but far from squished with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a sort of living room.

"Thank you, Corporals," said Harry, nodding to Miller and Schwartz.

A brief look of confusion flashed across their faces and they said nothing, only nodding to him in turn. They stood on either side of the door, ready to stop any assassins from entering—and, Harry was sure, to stop he and Sensei from charging out and trying to kill people.

He and Sensei entered the room, sitting in the chairs of the living room. The door hissed shut behind them.

"You know," said his sensei, looking amused, "I am not at all sure you should be teasing your soldiers in such a manner. "

Harry grinned reluctantly. "You mean, the way they're not sure how to treat me?"

Sensei nodded. "On the one hand, you are a royal prince, and thus outrank them and they should salute you; on the other hand, it is possible that you are an impostor, though admittedly not likely. So they call you your highness and treat you with respect, but do not know exactly what to do."

Harry shrugged. "It's been a grim couple of days, Sensei. I need entertainment where I can get it." He smiled weakly. "You want to play some chess?"

Sensei considered this offer, then shook his head. "No, I think I shall read," he replied. "I never finished that analysis I was reading back home."

Harry's shoulders sagged. "Back home," he whispered. "It's not home anymore, is it, Sensei?"

It was less of a question, and more of a statement, but Sensei answered anyway. "Home is where the heart is," he answered gently. "Wherever you are, I am home."

Harry nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Thanks, Sensei," he said before doing something he'd never done before: he wrapped his arms against his teacher/bodyguard, and squeezed. Sensei looked briefly astonished, then reached down and held his student for a couple of minutes, before Harry finally turned away and went to the vidconsole to play some chess.

Sensei went to another vidconsole, and began to search for the analysis he'd been reading before they'd left Ridnor*.

They stayed that way for several hours, each doing their own thing, when Daedalus became aware that Harry had become unusually quiet. He whirled around, only to find that Harry was no longer playing chess, nor even awake; the prince had fallen asleep in his chair. The man smiled wryly, then crossed the room. He considered waking Harry, but the boy needed some sleep; he had been through a stressful couple of days, emotionally speaking, and hadn't had very much rest. He saved the chess game Harry was in the middle of, then picked up his charge and carried him into one of the bedrooms. He searched the dresser that was in there; it did have clothes, in about Harry's size, including pyjamas. He undressed his prince, then stopped, frowning, as he spotted an unusual scar just above Harry's heart; it was shaped like a lightning bolt, straight and strong, and he wondered where the boy had gotten it. Shrugging mentally, he continued to undress the boy before getting him into his pj's and getting him into the bed. Tucking the boy in, he went back to his analysis for a while before he, too, surrendered to the urge to get some rest.

* * *

Harry awoke, the next—while, it wasn't exactly morning; days were relative on board a ship, after all—but at the beginning of the next day cycle. Noting that he was dressed in pyjamas he hadn't brought with him, and that there was a dresser in the room, he walked over to the dresser, opening drawers until he found some clean clothes. None of them were exactly high quality, and they were all in the same style, but they'd do.

He went to the bathroom then returned to the living room. Checking the time on the vidconsole he'd used earlier—it was 7:00—he decided to wait until Sensei awoke on his own to order breakfast, instead of waking him up immediately. He opened the game of chess, and began to play.

He'd only done a couple of moves when one of his teachers appeared beside him, glowing slightly. "Good morning, Master Ani," said Harry.

Master Ani smiled slightly, and replied, "Good morning, padawan. I note that you're not meditating?"

His student gave him an incredulous look. "Meditating?" he said. "Sensei's going to wake up pretty soon, anyways. Why would I meditate?"

His teacher gave a small yet evil smile. "Harry," he chided gently. "You're not going to have much privacy, which means that I'm not going to be able to appear much. Luckily, I can diddle the cameras, so no one's seeing or hearing our conversation, but as a Force-ghost it's a great deal harder to mess with people's minds. Besides, that's not something I like to do unless I have to." Suddenly serious, he continued, "Meditating will help you control your grief, as well as helping you to control the Force. The more you practice, the better. I'll warn you when your sensei wakes up."

Making a face, but obeying his teacher, Harry slid to the floor and assumed a posture of meditation. Meditating did make him feel calmer, he had to admit. He stayed that way for what felt like a long time, lost to the world, before a hiss from his Jedi Master brought him back to reality. "He's awake, Harry," his teacher. "You can go back to your chess now."

Harry smiled at his teacher. "Thanks," he whispered back. "Bye, Master Ani!" The Jedi faded away, and Harry was safely playing his chess game by the time Sensei entered the living room.

"Morning, Sensei," he greeted his teacher-cum-bodyguard.

"Good morning, Harry," returned Sensei. "I see you are still playing chess. Have you been up long?"

Harry shook his head. "Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes," he answered. "I knew you'd be up soon, so I thought I'd let you sleep. Shall we go and have breakfast?"

Outside the door were the corporals from yesterday, Miller and Schwartz. "I hope you weren't up all night," commented Harry, raising an eyebrow.

Miller shook her head. "No, Your Highness. Shortly after we escorted you to your quarters, we were relieved. We relieved them about half an hour ago."

"I see. Thank you," replied the prince. "Ah...Mr. Daedalus and I were wondering if we could have some breakfast?"

"Certainly, Your Highness," said Corporal Schwartz. "This way, please." They were guided to the—mess hall, Harry supposed it was, though as mess halls went it wasn't very large—but then, neither was the crew. He and Sensei picked out some food, though Sensei insisted on trying a bite of everything on his plate. He was uncomfortable with this, but let his bodyguard do so—it was the man's job, even if he wasn't used to it.

"Won't you join us?" he inquired of the corporals. "It looks quite good." They both shook their head, but it was Schwartz who answered. "We already ate, Your Highness," he replied. "We are here to guard you."

Harry shrugged, but ate his lunch. He was right; as military food went, this wasn't half bad. He finished his breakfast in silence, not really wanting to talk to his teacher with other people about, then waited as the man finished his own meal. They both stood, taking their dishes to the dirty dish pile, then were escorted back to their quarters.

The door hissed shut behind Harry and Sensei, and the boy sighed with relief. "It feels weird, all these people calling me Your Highness," he admitted to his sensei. "I'm not used to it."

Sensei smiled gently. "You are handling yourself quite well, Harry," he replied, voice as gentle as his smile. "Your discomfort is not obvious."

"But you can see it," noted Harry.

"I can," admitted Sensei. "But I have known you for several years. These people have not. Of course, they certainly know about it now."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Bloody bugs." He sighed tiredly. "You up for some chess?" he inquired.

Sensei smiled. "Certainly," he replied.

Harry stared at the screen, searching desperately for a way to get out of checkmate. Unfortunately, the task seemed impossible; to his king's right were his rook, and above that his pawn; the square above it and the one to the left of it were covered by Sensei's bishop, with the square above that covered by the other man's queen. Finally, his teacher's rook was coming straight down the center. It was Harry's turn, and there was nothing he could do.

Harry knocked his king over, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. The set was a physical one, one of a number of physical board games stored in a cupboard hidden in the wall of the main room; most ships were without these, as it was possible to play on the computers, but for most games it was more interesting to both players if you could see your opponent's face—and since this ship was one for discreetly moving important people about, it had a number of minor luxuries that most ships this size did not have.

"One day I'm going to beat you, Sensei," he commented dryly.

His teacher smiled. "I am sure, Harry," he responded. "But today is not that day."

Harry gave a slight chuckle. "Apparently not. But I've had good teachers—if I keep studying, someday..." he fell silent and his face darkened.

Sensei looked at him for a moment, saying nothing. Then he picked up Harry's king and inquired, "Another game, Harry?"

The boy shrugged, then nodded. They both set the pieces up and Harry made the first move.

Daedalus knew the cause of the boy's sudden downheartedness; the boy had had good teachers, indeed, and one of them had been his father. His mother, too, though she'd preferred card games; as he recalled, she'd taught Harry not just to play the most common ones, but also ways to cheat—in case he ever needed it, she'd explained when Daedalus had asked, and also to prevent someone cheating _him_.

They finished that game and played another before Harry's mood returned to its original state. Daedalus was glad it had, and not just because he cared for his student; he wished to ask Harry a question.

"Harry," he began, then waited for a response.

The boy looked up curiously. "Yes, Sensei?" he inquired.

"That scar above your heart—when did you get it?"

Harry's heart nearly stopped when Sensei asked his question, but he managed to school his face into a slightly rueful expression. "Oh, that one?" he replied. "I'm not really sure. I get injuries all the time—you know. It might have been the time I fell out of a tree. Or the other time I fell out of a tree. Or any time I fell out of a tree, really. Or the time I fell off my bike. Or the other time I--"

"Thank you, Harry, I take your point."

His heart felt like it was frozen, and he felt as see-through as glass; he prayed that his Sensei didn't notice it, and gave an internal sigh of relief when Sensei indicated his agreement.

It wasn't the first time he'd tried to deceive Sensei, but it _was_ the first time he'd ever really wanted—no, _needed—_to.

Because he'd never seen the scar before in his life...but something was telling him that it was tremendously important.

* * *

Later, in the ship, Harry was sleeping. Many thousands of light-years away, a man who by this time wasn't sure what his name was but thought of himself as Constellation pushed against a barrier, as he'd been doing for years. He pushed, grunting, not really expecting it to give way but pushing anyway, from sheer bloodymindedness.

It broke, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he shifted.

_Huh_, he thought, surprised, as he moved around. _That's not what the memories say..._


End file.
